


i never knew you (you never knew me)

by IWhiteCrossI



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: 4-parter, But also, Dollar Store Dair lol, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, F/F, F/M, Heartbreak, High School, Jeronica Relationship, Maffia, New York AU, Romeo and Juliet References, Slow Burn, Two Halves of the same coin, also: Godfather references, and SMUT, but who knows when that'll be, college students, could be taken both ways, here and there, kind of AUish but also, time-jump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-17
Updated: 2018-09-02
Packaged: 2019-04-24 07:41:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 43,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14350983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IWhiteCrossI/pseuds/IWhiteCrossI
Summary: “It seems to me like you’re really attempting to recreate our argument from a fortnight ago,” he eventually muses.Veronica raises her hands in protest, her initial reserve creeping back to her eyes.“I’m just making conversation.”Jughead runs a hand over his face.“We don’t do conversations, Lodge.”“Really?” She half-winks at him whilst lowering her voice. “I wasn’t aware that was part of our secret relationship protocol.”Jughead’s hand almost slams down on the keys of his keyboard as he looks at her incredulously.





	1. standing joke of the year

**Author's Note:**

> So, I caved and wrote a Jeronica fic! Basically, what you need to know about the plot: the fic takes place in their senior year of high school and everything is canon up until 2x17 except... in my AU Jughead and Veronica haven't kissed...yet. And they still resent each other A LOT. And if some nonsense happens at the end of S2, i.e. Betty gets a Serpent tattoo and her and Jughead run off into the sunset together then obviously, that's not going to be canon here, either. 
> 
> That's pretty much it. Also, I'm just warning all of you that this fic is going to be slow-burn as hell so, even though it's rated M we'll have a long way to go before anything happens. That's it. I hope you enjoy this one! Drop me a review if you like the fic, comments and kudos are always welcome :)
> 
> PS: Sorry if it's riddled with grammar mistakes, I wanted to get it out today so I might've missed a couple of things while I was proof-reading the whole thing. I'll run over it again tomorrow

 I

 

_The Prologue in Riverdale_

 

 

 

_(1)_

 

 

He is struggling with the combination on his locker when Archie approaches him, that well-known puppy-dog look plastered all over his face. Jughead can almost feel the Inferno approaching, disguised in the form of some unpleasant plea or bargain. 

“What is it, Arch?” he sighs, finally kicking the door open. 

“Hey man,” Archie bellows, clearly trying his damnedest to appear casual. “I was just wondering if you’d like to go to Pop’s after school…”

Jughead contemplates him for a moment. 

“Just the two of us?” 

Archie shuffles his feet a little. 

“Well, I was kind of hoping that maybe Betty and… Ronnie could tag along.” 

Jughead just sighs, closing his locker door up again. 

“Arch,” he says, his tone weary. “We’ve talked about this. I don’t want to be anywhere near the girl whose dad is having _mine_ displaced.”

“Oh, come on, you know she isn’t involved in her father’s business.” 

Jughead meddles with his combination and stares at Archie, an almost pitiful look on his face. 

“You would never say that if you weren’t playing a second fiddle to Hiram  Lodge yourself.” 

Archie swallows visibly. 

“That’s not tr —“ 

“The point?” Jughead finishes for him, turning away from the lockers. Archie has to jog a bit to keep up with him. 

“Just come for Betty then.” 

“Betty?” the other boy mutters, his vision drifting down to the ground. “Excuse me, Arch, if I’m not particularly fond of the idea. You know how _that_ ended…” 

“But…but…hey, what if I get Veronica to apologise to you?” Archie bleats as Jughead rounds up on the hallway leading to the science building, ready to escape. 

He stops right in front of the chemistry classroom, giving Archie an exasperated glare. 

“You know she’d never do that.” 

Archie grins at him. 

“Maybe I’ll convince her during sex?” 

Jughead snorts, in spite of himself. 

“That is so not something I need to be privy to, _Andrews_.” The dark-haired boy shakes his head. “But honestly, if you’re willing to go to such lengths just to get me to hang out with Ronnie, I guess I’ll be there.” 

Jughead opens the classroom door, ready to put a pin in this repetitive topic.  The whole thing seems so juvenile, like forcing two toddlers to share toys on the  playground. Archie raises his eyebrows.

“Wait, did you just call her Ronnie? Isn’t she like your arch-rival or something?” 

“With all due respect, Arch, I don’t think you’re familiar with the concept behind the word “nemesis”.  Jughead manages something like a smirk before the door falls shut behind him.

 

____ 

 

 

Betty, Archie and Veronica are sitting in their usual booth in Pop’s at half past four, waiting for Jughead to make an appearance and Veronica, well, Veronica is bored to death. 

“I think he’s not going to show,” Betty says, looking at the Pop’s cake stand longingly. 

“Girl, just order whatever you want and let’s get out of here,” Veronica shrugs, poking her half-eaten plate of chilli fries with a straw. “Clearly he’s not interested in meeting us.” 

Veronica probably wouldn’t be here either if it wasn’t for Archie. And my god, is Archie obstinate. Veronica had invited her boyfriend over to the Pembrooke a few days ago for a much-needed session of afternoon delight, but instead, she had been forced to endure a 2-hour lecture about how Jughead was “truly sorry” and “wanted to mend fences”. Veronica had to literally climb on top of him, her lips beginning a vicious descent down from his collarbone, before Archie finally shut up.

“Ronnie,” Archie pleads now, laying a hand on his girlfriend’s shoulder. “Just give him five more minutes.”

“Well, he has already taken his forty-five so, fine.” Ronnie rolls her eyes. “But I just can’t fathom why you guys are being so _adamant_ about not ordering anything even though our dear Holden Caulfield is almost an _hour_ late.” 

“Because it’s polite to wait for others to arrive,” Betty insists, directing a pointed glance towards Veronica’s milkshake and plate of fries. 

“Oh, Betts, you don’t even want to see him!” 

“That’s unfair, V. Of course, I want to see Juggie. He’s our friend!” 

“Are we talking about the same guy? The guy who has done _nothing_ but voice his dislike towards us ever since my dad moved back to Riverdale?“ 

“I’m sure it’s just temporary,” Betty replies, biting her lip. “And I’m sorry, V, but your dad _has_ done some pretty horrendous stuff to his _family_.” 

Veronica narrows her eyes. 

“Oh sure, of course. I’m sorry for forgetting that my dad is the number one scapegoat for anything crime-related in this town, which is more drab than rural Michigan, for a second, I truly am,” she bites back, her voice dripping with sarcasm. 

Betty scoffs. 

“Well, you can’t pretend he’s innocent!” 

“I _never_ said he was an innocent man, B. But he _told_ me he had nothing to do with the displacement of the Jones’ and _I believe him_.” 

“Sometimes I wonder how you can still trust his words after everything he’s done.” 

“Well then, that must not be an entirely incomprehensible situation for you considering what your mother got up to when — “ 

“There he is now,” Archie chimes in, motioning for them to quiet down as a worn-down Jughead approaches the table. Veronica hadn’t even noticed him creeping into the diner. She frowns. 

“Hi, friends. Veronica,” Jughead declares, causing the girl’s eyes to roll to the back of her skull.

Archie motions for his buddy to take a seat. Since Betty and him are both sitting on the right side of the booth, Veronica is forced to scooch over and make room for Jug. Earlier, Betty had even argued that they should flip for it, since it was impossible to decide which seating place would prove more uncomfortable for “dear Juggie," sitting next to his ex-girlfriend or arch-rival. Veronica had thought the whole idea ludicrous. After all, it was clear that Jug would favour Betty over her in any given situation. And besides, it was laughable to go through that much fuss for a teenage indie-listening white boy, anyway. She said as much and Betty had given up. 

 _God, the theatrics of this situation,_ Veronica had thought privately, seeing Betty’s anxious face as she had dug around in her purse, looking for a spare coin, _why did everything in Riverdale have to resemble some mediocre attempt at adapting a renowned Greek tragedy?_

“So…” Archie trails, trying to hide his bristling anticipation for he finally has all three of his friends here, sitting down at a particular booth after nearly three months of avoidance and quiet resentment.  

“So…” Veronica sing-songs, her voice glittering with false positivity. “Long time no see, Forsythe Pendleton Jones III.” 

“Could’ve been longer,” Jughead jeers in between giving his order to Pop. 

“Oh, what a charming person you are, Mr. Caulfield.” Veronica smiles, blowing him a kiss. 

Archie opens his mouth to say something but Betty makes a surreptitious motion with her head, stopping the redhead from interfering.

“Likewise, Connie Corleone,” Jughead throws back and amuses himself with watching all civility vanish from Veronica’s face. 

“Connie Corleone?” Veronica dead-pans. “Really?” 

“Well, I would have gone with Lady Macbeth if you actually _had_ any control over your own life but you don’t and…” 

He doesn’t get to finish his sentence before a fry dipped in sauce hits him square in the face. He watches, paralysed, as she picks up another fry. Veronica Lodge has _always_ been above physical attacks. Jughead’s face turns crimson. 

“What the fuck, Lodge?” he shouts. “I thought this lunch was about you trying to make peace and not throwing food at me. _How old are you?_ ” 

“Who on Earth, I ask you,” Veronica raves as fry by fry hit various parts of Jughead’s body, “who on Earth shows up to a friendly, peacemaking get-together with one’s former friends and starts throwing insults at them during the first five minutes?” 

Jughead yanks at her hand in an effort to stop the onslaught of fries, his eyes simmering. 

“You call this friendly? I was never your friend, Veronica!” 

His face looms over hers and Veronica pulls back her wrist as if burnt. 

“Get your paws off me, you whiny little shit,” she seethes, pushing herself away from him. Jughead does the same, standing up in a dramatic fashion and declaring: 

“Well, Archie, this has been great, but I think I’d prefer to take a break from dear Claudius over here so…” 

“Hey man, there’s no need to…” Archie tries to say but Veronica cuts in. 

“Do you really think that _you’re_ Hamlet?” she questions, chewing a fry. 

Jughead raises an eyebrow at her whilst grabbing his backpack out from under the table.

“Let me guess, you disagree?”  

“Well, Claudius got rid of Hamlet’s family and eventually became his nemesis, so in your imagination, I guess you must be right,” Veronica snaps, her mouth turning down in a bitter curve. She turns her back on him, and Jughead stares at her for just a second, dumb-founded, before exiting the diner.  

 

___

 

 

The next time their paths cross, Veronica is standing in front of his trailer,  right in the depths of Southside, handing out flyers, for God’s sake. A perfect image of New York deception, that’s what she is. 

“Hey, sir, would you like a free flyer with information about the upcoming innovation of the Southside?” Veronica chirps, catching the attention of a middle-aged Serpent. Her black and white Prada dress shimmies around her as she moves, the pearls around her neck glistening in the midday sun. 

“Don’t accept that garbage,” Jughead mutters, attempting to move past her and the rest of the River Vixens who have all showed up to help her, _of course_. The Lodge princess is evidently everyone’s darling. 

“Excuse me,” Veronica chirrups, blocking the boy’s path. “Did you say something, Torombolo?” 

Jughead’s lips curl up in exasperation. How come he’s never quite able to escape her presence? 

“Do you really think it’s wise to be handing out these brochures in the Southside part of town?” he snides, looking down at her.

“Why wouldn’t it be?” Veronica smiles but her eyes remain cold. They are approaching a touchy subject again, the reason why the two of them are now but mere acquaintances. 

For some purpose or other, he chooses to pivot. This time. 

“Do you think it’s… safe?” he motions towards the number of gang members who have gathered up on the right side of the trailer park. They’re watching the whole commotion intently, scowls etched deep into their faces. He thinks he can hear someone whisper “Northside scum” under their breath. 

Veronica pauses, nipping on the inside of her cheek. 

“Is this your way of saying that you’re worried about me?” 

Jughead scoffs at the turn this conversation has taken. 

“Of course not, Miranda Priestly, ” the boy replies and curses inwardly, when he realises he’s probably just compared her to one of her literary idols. “Now move along so I can enter my own home.” 

Veronica’s brows furrow at the use of the nickname and her upper lip twitches, but she makes room for Jughead to pass, anyhow. 

Jug’s arm grazes her shoulder as he moves and for some reason, the contact isn’t entirely revolting this time. She feels a sharp jolt of curiosity rise in her stomach. Veronica doesn’t have time to dwell on it, though, as the boy yells back at her: 

“And make sure you all scatter before seven, that’s when I’m letting Hot Dog loose!” 

 

___ 

 

 

Veronica runs into him again one late night at Pop’s. It’s past 1 am and she watches Jughead type away at his computer, fingers jamming the keys fervently, as she waits for her food, eyes lingering on the concentrated look on his face and the hard slant of his jaw.

She decides to approach him on a whim, her long black cloak wafting behind her as she glides over the tiled floor at Pop’s. It’s the same cloak she wore on that very first night in Riverdale. 

“Hi,” Veronica says, gesturing towards his computer. “Are you…um, writing?”Jughead’s gaze flickers up to meet hers, his whole demeanour disgruntled and yet, he seems to be too exhausted to launch a full-on protest against her presence today. 

“What do you think?” 

Veronica’s lips etch into the smallest of grins. 

“I just… I didn’t want to ask you in case you were, perhaps, writing for the _Blue & Gold_.” She whispers the name of the paper, almost as if it were a swearword. “May I sit down?” 

“You may,” he utters, his voice barely audible. “I mean, I wouldn’t, considering how our latest meeting here went but…” 

Veronica plops down opposite him, anyhow. 

“You _are_ actually writing for the Blue & Gold, aren’t you?” she says after a bit, sniggering. 

Jughead regards her with open disdain before muttering: 

“Not only that.” 

“Shit.” Veronica hits his arm playfully. _She really doesn’t know what she’s doing here._ “It’s another one of those horrendous pieces about my dad, isn’t it?” 

Jughead frowns at her, pulling his computer farther towards his side of the table. 

“It seems to me like you’re really attempting to recreate our argument from a fortnight ago,” he eventually muses. 

Veronica raises her hands in protest, her initial reserve creeping back to her eyes. 

“I’m just making conversation.” 

Jughead runs a hand over his face. 

“We don’t do conversations, Lodge.” 

“Really?” She half-winks at him whilst lowering her voice. “I wasn’t aware that was part of our secret relationship protocol.” 

Jughead’s hand almost slams down on the keys of his laptop as he looks at her incredulously. 

Veronica sneers at him. 

“Oh, relax, Miss Marple. I’m just here running an errand for my dad.” 

Jughead’s neck immediately stiffens. 

“Your dad, huh?” he says, a mocking expression taking over his features. “Wasn’t Archie his main hit-man?” 

She purses her lips. Maybe sitting down here had been a terrible idea. 

“Anything else?”

“Actually, yeah…can you ask Hiram if he’ll comment on my story?” 

Veronica lets out a bitter laugh.

“Why don’t you ask him yourself?” 

“I would… if I wasn’t about… 99.99% certain that I’ve _probably_ been banned from the grounds of Pembroke eternally.” 

“You’re unbelievable!” Veronica scoffs, getting up from the leather seat. “I’m going.”

Jughead looks up at her once more, while she does up the buttons on her cloak, his countenance impossible to dissect. 

“Make sure you ask him for that comment, though.” 

“Bye, Felicia!” Ronnie shouts over her shoulder as she floats back towards the take-away counter. She really hopes her food is ready by now. 

 

 

_(2)_

 

 

“How much for the stuff, Serpent?” a whisper that positively reeks of rum mumbles near his ear. 

“How much are you willing to offer?” Jughead dead-pans, shoving the drunk teen off him and heading towards the bar. 

Some time has passed since Jughead last pulled on his Serpent jacket. 

He’d reasoned that the Jones’ family blood feud with Hiram Lodge had become a bit too volatile to drag the Serpents down with him at some point. To add salt to the wound, his dad had made his thoughts about Jughead pursuing any Hiram-related leads _quite_ clear. There was also the added reason of finals coming up and such. 

This Friday is different, however. 

The boy sits down at the bar, waiting for the guy called Mad Al to show. Serpents have a strict rule of not dealing to children, at least not directly, and as Jughead’s eyes sweep the room, he notices only a handful of party-goers, who at least appear to be legal. 

He thinks he sees a glimpse of tightly curled up raven hair and burgundy lipstick in the crowd somewhere, except Veronica Lodge would rather be burned at the stake than be dragged to the Roving Eye willingly. 

“What can I do for ye, son?” a bulky guy bawls from the other side of the bar, seemingly appearing out of nowhere. 

“Mad Al?” he enquires, absent-mindedly wondering where the hell Toni had gotten off to. The strobe lights are making Jughead’s head pound as he taps his fingers against the countertop. 

“Yeah. Who’s asking?” 

“I’ve got your merch,” Jughead shrugs, pointing at the NorthFace school bag placed right next to him. 

Mad Al roars with laughter, looking at the tattered thing. 

“You’d think Serpents would be a little less obvious about their dealings now, would ye?” He motions towards the back door. 

The boy frowns at the barman, but follows his order, grabbing the stuff and stepping into the store room with the guy. The tangy, cold, _rotten_ atmosphere of the room makes this situation appear more than a bit ominous and Jughead catches himself half-wishing that Toni and Sweet Pea were here. His mind chooses to slip to Jason Blossom at that particular moment, which, _really_?

“What do you mean?” he asks. 

“Well, if Hiram was targeting my mates, I wouldn’t walk around with jingle jangle in my arms, all cool as a cucumber, is all I’m saying, mate.” 

Jughead lets out a long exhale, handing over the bag and reaching his hand out for the cash. 

“Don’t even talk to me about Hiram Lodge,” he spits, venom practically dripping off his tongue. 

Mad Al chuckles again, handing over the money. 

“Whatever you say, sonny,” the man laughs, leading him out of the store room. 

Jughead resists the urge to sneer and walks back into the dancehall, immediately seeing Toni and Cheryl making out in the corner. 

He struts over to them. 

“So, that’s where you’ve been hiding, Topaz,” he shouts over the techno beat. “With the Antichrist.” 

Cheryl pulls away from Toni, wiping away the remnants of her lipstick. 

“Hi to you too, _hobo_.” 

At least Toni has the courtesy to look a little bit bashful. 

“Sorry, Jug. I got a bit carried away. Everything good?” 

“Yeah, well, while you were getting cosy with Cheryl, I had to listen to Jolly Jack the Ripper make thinly veiled threats about Veronica’s dad.” 

Toni’s face pales a little, while Cheryl seems to have only registered one word over the loud music. 

“Oh, are you looking for V? I’m _sorry_ , you’ve just missed her. She’s been throwing money at the bar all evening, though.” 

Jughead’s shoulders tense as he looks from one girl to the other. Eventually, he shrugs. 

“Whatever, I’m out of here.” He gives Toni a reproachful look before turning around. She just shakes her head at him. “Text ya later, Tone.” 

Jughead fiddles with the zipper of his jacket pocket, reaching for a packet of cigarettes as he steps into the cool night air. 

 

___ 

 

 

“My feet are killing me, Josie! I should go,” Veronica yells over the music, wiping the sweat from her forehead, her wet hair cascading down her back. 

Her eyes are shimmering in the dim lights of the club and she’s even slightly out of breath. God, it has been ages since she’s been able to let go like this. She feels intoxicated, wild, free — all of which have probably something to do with the four shots of vodka lemon swirling around in her system. 

The girl shudders. Who even knew she was able to drink such a notorious concoction before Toni literally forced her to. 

“Just say goodbye to Cheryl before you leave then,” Josie yells back and   simpers, planting a kiss against the other girl’s cheek.  “You know how she gets.” 

Ronnie hugs her and waves, finding her other friends soon enough, tangled up in the booth near the corner, clearly preoccupied with each other. 

After the goodbyes have been said, Veronica strides out of the club, feeling a bit unsteady on her feet. She raises her left foot and unclips the buckle on her golden, glittering shoe as she exits from the back entrance of the club, finally letting her feet breathe. 

“Having a rough night, Princess?” 

That’s when the girl notices Jughead, of all people, leaning against the brick wall of the Roving Eye and inhaling on his cigarette, the smoke billowing all around him. 

Veronica feels her blood short-circuit, the annoyance beginning to simmer in her gut, hitting her in waves. 

“Jughead,” she says curtly, slipping off the other shoe. 

“Didn’t take you for one to appreciate the Roving Eye.” 

Veronica’s lips transform into a thin line as she treads down the small steps, barefoot. Jughead is immediately struck by how tiny she looks without her heels. 

“Of course, you didn’t.” Veronica says, stepping closer. She hiccups, the taste of salt and lemon flooding her mouth. “You probably think Daddy would never allow me to be caught in such an… underwhelming residence, Caulfield.” 

Jughead catches her wrist on an impulse as she sways to pass him. 

“Tell me something about your dad,” he murmurs, a hint of danger in his voice.

She hiccups again. 

“Has Hiram got anything to do with the drug business that goes down here?” 

Veronica’s eyes glimmer dangerously, the former annoyance boiling into a full-blown rage. She squeezes the hand around his wrist, nails digging into his knuckles. 

“Question me about my dad one more goddamn time…” 

“And what?” Jughead yells. “What are you going to do, Veronica?” 

“I will _end_ you! “ 

Jughead laughs bitterly, his voice hoarse in the night air. 

“No, you won’t, Veronica! Because no matter what I tell you, you’re still too scared to go all out to war against your former friends.” 

Veronica’s shaking her head, Jughead’s words anchoring, freezing her to the spot. 

“What are you talking about?” she screeches, her words like ice. “Archie and Betty are still my friends. _You…_ it was… you were the one who chose not to be involved with _us_ , Capote!”

“Don’t pretend as if they’re your friends, Veronica!” Jughead continues on, his vitriol cutting into her word by word. “You are always going to be daddy’s spoilt little girl, so ready to turn a blind eye as soon as shit hits the fan again. You just can’t afford to lose Archie and Betty right now because then… then you will have no one in your corner.” He lets go of her hand, face clouded over with utter disappointment. “That’s why you’re Connie Corleone.” 

Veronica takes a step back, his words reaching her hazy mind through a broken wavering static. She tries to make it seem like she hasn’t heard him, tries to block the noise out. 

Then she closes back in. 

“Aren’t we past this?” Veronica hisses. “Have you had _enough_? Said everything you wanted?” The girl inhales sharply, the cool night breeze clearing her thoughts a bit. “Because you know what I think, Forsythe Pendleton Jones III? I think you’re a huge fucking _hypocrite_.” She spits out the last word. “Oh, how high and mighty of you, dear Hamlet, walking around and acting like I’m the only one with daddy issues here. Hell, even Cheryl isn’t as messed up because of her parents as you are!” 

Veronica is full-on shaking now, and she knows that if she doesn’t get out of here soon, she is going to cry and she’s going to break and she’s going to — 

Jughead’s eyes slide over her face, slowly, almost tentatively, and she’s startled by the almost pitiful look on his face. 

He takes a step forward before whispering. 

“I’m not saying you’re wrong, Veronica. But… at least my dad loves me. That’s something I’ll always be sure of. I don’t know if you’ll ever be able to say the same.” 

Veronica stares at him for a beat, his gaze heavy on hers, everything quietening around them. 

“Very funny, Jughead,” she manages to gulp out before she watches him turn and his leather jacket diminish as he disappears into the night. 

Veronica stares at the gravel under her bare feet while texting Andre to come and pick her up. She’s motionless in the cab, watching the town lights whirl by quietly. She doesn’t reply when Hermione and Hiram greet her in the living room, pretending not to have heard them. Only when she slithers between her silk sheets and a cashmere duvet, only when her head hits the pillow, does she think that Jughead really had no fucking right to say that to her. 

 

 

_(3)_

 

 

Veronica spends the next few days in her room, watching _Charade_ on repeat on Blu-Ray and eating strawberry macaroons in her bed. And when _Charade_ eventually begins to vex her, she switches to _Vertigo, North by Northwest_ and Godiva instead. 

All of this seems to work just fine when it comes to avoiding her own thoughts, but it’s only after she slides into her Louboutins on Monday morning and puts on a fresh coat of her favourite burgundy lipstick, when Veronica feels like she’s truly passed this tide of inertia unscathed. 

She is supposed to meet Betty before school this morning, something about shopping for prom dresses, and by the time, she grabs her Birkin from the top shelf of her closet, Veronica’s managed to convince herself that she’s fine. Even more so, she’s ready to take on anything and everything Riverdale is ready to throw at her on this glimmery spring day. _She is_. Sure, she is. 

Betty is waiting for her outside the Pembrooke and Veronica catches her bestie glancing around nervously as she flounces down the main entrance. 

“Don’t worry,” she calls out. “My dad’s capos are not going to eat you for breakfast, Red Riding Hood.” 

Betty furrows her eyebrows at her. 

“You’re cheerful this morning.” 

“I am, darling Betty,” Veronica muses, linking their arms together as they walk towards the waiting and fidgeting Andre, standing a few meters away, Veronica’s  very own personal taxi. 

“I am feeling like…” Veronica raises her chin, beaming widely at Betty. “Like I’m ready to find you the perfect prom dress.” She tugs at B’s hand. “Something that will leave Reggie _speechless_.” 

A  slight blush tints the other girl’s cheeks at Veronica’s words. 

“What are you talking about, V?” Betty hushes the raven-haired mischief-maker, shoving her hands in her jacket pockets. “There is no me and _Reggie_.” 

Veronica smirks. 

“Oh? I didn’t get that impression when I found you two shacked up in a coat closet two weeks ago.” 

Betty’s face turns crimson. 

“That was one time!” 

“Are you _sure_?” 

“Yes!” Betty lets go of her friend’s hand as both of them crawl into the backseat of the cab. 

“Besides,” the girl says more quietly once they’re properly seated, “I don’t think I’m over Jughead yet, anyway.” 

Veronica purses her lips, her expression darkening. She can’t quite ignore the  unpleasant shiver that trickles down her spine. 

“Jughead Jones,” Veronica says in measured tones. “Can suck my dick.” 

“Ronnie!” Betty yelps, aghast. “You sound like Cheryl!” 

“So?” Veronica assesses the fingernails on her left hand. “You’re better off without him.” 

“Toni told me that he said something to you over the weekend. Is that why you — ?” 

Veronica gives her a blank look. 

“It was nothing special. Our local Holden Caulfield is not half as poetic as he thinks he is.” 

She’s careful to keep the venom out of her voice but Betty doesn’t seem to buy her act. The blonde makes a tiny shaking motion with her head before continuing: 

“Well, I don’t want to add fuel to the fire,” Betty murmurs, fidgeting with the little gemstone around her neck, “but… I… kind of wanted to let you know…” 

Veronica waves her hand, her impatience rearing into high gear. 

“Out with it, Coop.” 

“You do know he’s writing a new piece about your dad, right? Juggie says he’s really aiming to convince people with this one… That he went all out.” 

Don’t call him _Juggie_ , Veronica thinks inwardly before forcing a charlatan smile on her face. 

“Indeed? What have you heard?” 

 

___ 

 

 

“Cheryl? Do you have a minute?” 

The whole of Riverdale is engulfed in darkness by the time Veronica rings the ancient doorbell next to the rusty old iron gate, the passage leading to Thornhill.

“Cheryl? Are you there?” she tries again after a couple of minutes, jumping from one foot to the other because of the biting cold. The brunette is ready to give up when suddenly: 

“What is it, _Veronica_?” 

“Can we talk? Just for a moment, please?” 

She can hear the redhead’s exasperated sigh filtering through the intercom. 

“Fine.” 

Veronica hears the distinct sound of the buzzer and the gates of Thornhill creak open before her eyes. The girl shudders momentarily before stepping into the Blossom’s drive-in. 

There is a fleeting moment in her mind, when she thinks about turning back. Maybe she’s just overreacting. Maybe he didn’t mean what he said. 

The thought falls into oblivion as Cheryl’s impatient voice echoes from the hallway. Veronica strengthens her spine. 

Better to strike than be struck down, right? _Right?_

 _(_ And besides, she’s always been a bit of a thrill-seeker. _)_

 

___ 

 

 

The redhead leads her frenemy to sit on one of the many canapés in her room. It’s a room full of dust and shadows and too much furniture. Veronica can barely make out the contours of her own hands before Cheryl switches on the colossal chandelier hanging above their heads.

“So,” she says. “Here to demand a favour from the notorious Cheryl Bombshell, are we, Snow White?” 

Veronica rolls her eyes at the redhead. 

“Can you stop talking like a character from a Wes Anderson movie slash _The Wizard of Oz_ for a second, Cher?” 

“Nope.” 

Cheryl twirls around, eyeing up Veronica. 

“Toni adores my way of speaking.” 

Veronica’s expression softens up a little. 

“Of course, she does. She’s _in love_ with you.” 

“Pfft. Everyone’s in love with me.” The redhead regards her with a dismissive glare. “Get to the point.” 

“Okay, fine. I might need a favour,” Veronica back-pedals, a tiny hint of a smirk on her face as she crosses one leg over the other. “But trust me, you’re going to _love_ _this_.” 

Cheryl’s eyes light up for a second, curiosity getting the better of her. She adjusts the evening dresses in her closet before stealing a glance at the other girl. 

 _God, has there ever been a_ more _dramatic person_ , Veronica muses to herself. 

“Why, are you planning something devious?” 

Ronnie shrugs her shoulders. 

“ _Maybe_.” 

“And, who, pray tell, is this person you want to take down so badly you came to _moi_ for help?” 

The raven-haired girl bites her lip. _Last chance to turn back, Ronnie, last chance to turn ba_ — 

“Jughead.” 

Cheryl’s lips stretch into a full-blown smirk before glancing at Veronica appreciatively. The redhead’s eyes are sparkling with mirth. 

“I thought I’d never see the day.” 

Veronica fiddles with her pearl necklace. 

“So you’ll help me?” 

Cheryl puts the final dress, a gorgeous Georges Hobeika, in its right place and turns towards the raven-haired girl, hands on her hips. 

“But of course. What did you have in mind?” she says without missing a beat.

After that, it doesn’t take long before the girls are lying on Cheryl’s queen-sized bed, drinking mimosas, and Veronica finally spills her guts about Jughead. Between the endless ‘what’s, ‘how dare he’s and Gossip Girl binges, the two girls manage to put together one of the best takedowns that Riverdale High has ever seen. 

At least, that’s what Veronica thinks as she finally falls asleep after hours of scheming, almost squashed to death by Cheryl’s endless collection of throw pillows. 

 

___ 

 

 

The storm doesn’t hit Jughead Jones III before Wednesday afternoon. That’s the official date when the new Blue & Gold is supposed to go to print, so it can be fresh and ready for handing out to pupils on Thursday morning. 

Betty had handed him the paper after the English lesson and Jughead’s leafing through this week’s material now, not really paying attention. It’s not just that he’s _tired_ , it’s that he’s basically subsisting on a mix of Red Bull and coffee at this point. 

He smirks to himself. God forbid, that anyone find out he adds the devil’s drink to his coffee just to keep himself up and writing. It would ruin his reputation. Real writers don’t drink _Red Bull_. Vonnegut certainly did _not_. And more importantly, Archie would crucify him for his lifestyle choices. 

He’s distracted by his own inside jokes for a while, the ones that Betty never really got, so he almost misses it. Except, wait. 

He flips through the articles one more time. 

Is he missing something? 

Again he shuffles the paper and stares at the material until it hits him. The Hiram Lodge article is missing. 

It doesn’t take long for Jughead to think of anyone who would want to steal it. He _did_ have a feeling he had upset her during his impassioned speech. Hell, maybe he did go a little overboard but this… 

He glares at the ancient cuckoo clock on the office wall. Twenty minutes past five. Jughead leaps up from his chair. Veronica might still be at the gym. 

 

 

___

 

 

She is. 

In fact, Veronica is actually alone in the auditorium, rehearsing her newest act for the Vixens, when he corners her. 

And the girl can’t quite help the brief, satisfied smirk that passes her face when she catches the ferocious look on Jughead’s. It quickly flickers to dust, though, as he stomps closer. 

“Tell me, Lodge,” he seethes, anger radiating off him in waves. “When the fuck did you have time to steal that article about your dad?” 

“That was Cheryl, not me,” she throws back, not even attempting to hold her tongue. 

“Well, where is it?” 

Veronica laughs, the bitter sound filling the auditorium. She stretches her left leg and raises her hands above her head, carrying on with the practice. 

“She burned all the copies.” 

“You do know that I have a back-up file on my frickin’ computer, right?” Jughead hisses. 

“Yeah well, Cheryl coerced Dilton Doiley into deleting it.” 

Jughead opens his mouth to retort. 

“And on Betty’s computer as well,” she adds, throwing her hair back in another  move, not even bothering to look at him. 

For a moment, Jughead’s stunned silent. It seems like Veronica has finally one-upped him. She continues dancing to _Electric Feel_ , as Jughead tries to process what just happened to him. 

Then the mist clears. 

He reaches out on impulse and pulls the cable leading to the speakers out of its socket. 

“Hey!” Veronica yells as the music stops, whirling around to face him. “Take your frustration out on someone else!” 

Jughead’s lips twitch. _She is really something_. 

“I do wonder,” he begins, “what Toni and Betty would say if they found out you tried to silence me _and_ stole my article.” 

The girl blinks. 

“You wouldn’t — “ 

“You know very well, _I would_.” 

Veronica’s demeanour shifts. 

“Are you trying to manipulate me, Jug?” she says, tone suddenly almost cat-like again if it wasn’t for the slight tremble in her voice. “For some stupid, wannabe-Dickensian article that’s full of lies?” 

Jughead pulls out his phone, holding it out between them, his hand shaking a little. Hmm. Must be from all the repressed hatred. 

“You either find a way to get me back my article or I’m going to text Betty right this instant,” he says. 

Veronica glares at him. 

“Oh, go ahead, Jones,” she smiles, lifting an unimpressed eyebrow as everything in her demeanour shifts in one glorious beat. “Except I should _probably_ let you know that they already know.” 

He absent-mindedly wonders if he’s just become a national laughing stock in some evil version of  Punk!d for a moment. Veronica throws him a sly wink over her shoulder. 

“ _Hours_ ago, Capote.” 

Jughead watches her leave and clenches his teeth so hard he almost gets whiplash.

 

 

_(4)_

 

 

The article does get published in the end. 

It’s not like Veronica expected someone like Jughead to just let that one slide but she also didn’t expect his payback to happen like _this_. 

The Lodges are having breakfast at the Pembrooke dining room. It’s a lazy Saturday and she’s picking out mango from her fruit salad and skimming The New Yorker with one eye when Hiram unexpectedly snaps. 

Veronica sees his dad rise from his seat, his fist smashing down on the art nouveau-style table with pieces of their breakfast splashing all around the room. 

“Hiram!” Hermione shrieks, outraged, but Hiram bears her no mind. His attention is focused solely on Veronica. 

“Did you know?” he bellows, facing his daughter. 

“Daddy?” Veronica complains, not quite able to mask the fear in her face. 

“Did you know that your dear friend Jughead has managed to publish an article about me in The _Wall Street Journal?_ ” 

Hermione’s hand flies to her throat. 

“Tell me you had nothing to do with this, Ronnie, or I swear…!”

Veronica has never been afraid of her dad. Not once, period. And yet the fear is all too real as she feels it swirling at her insides now, liquifying her brain, freezing her muscles. She’s never been the sole object of his fury. All it takes is one short-lived minute. In one fleeting moment, Veronica’s not sure. She really doesn’t know what her dad will to do her, or… to Jughead. Her stomach drops. 

“Hiram.” Hermione lays a hand over her husband’s, giving him a stern look. “I am certain Ronnie would never keep this kind of information from us.” The woman pauses to look at her daughter. 

“ _Right, Veronica?_ ” 

“I… I wouldn’t,” Veronica bleats, her hand clutching onto her pearls. “I _didn’t_.” 

Hiram seems to be satisfied with that answer. Veronica can’t get rid of the feeling that he’s sensing her dread, sniffing it out like a bloodhound… or a shark. 

“Good,” he affirms. “Because that Jones boy…” 

He doesn’t finish his sentence. And for the first time, Veronica feels like he doesn’t really need to. 

She is terrified, paralysed to the spot and yet, she somehow manages to utter: 

“Daddy, let me han…” 

“I’m not sure if I can trust you with this,” her dad cuts in before Veronica has time to propose an offer. 

“But, Daddy,” Veronica fights to not let her fear show. “Jughead and I are not friends.” 

Hiram stares her down and Veronica clutches her pearl necklace so hard she almost breaks the silk thread. 

“Let me find out how he got the information he has,” she continues, doing her best to convince her dad. To keep him from doing…she doesn’t know what. “So, we can _avoid_ incidents like this in the future.” 

“You haven’t even read the article yet,” his dad breathes through his teeth. “None of these baseless accusations of his hold up, that boy is messing with _our_ image!”

His fist hits the table again. 

“How did this uneducated Serpent even get his piece out in the WSJ is my question!” Hiram rages on as Hermione bites her tongue but Veronica doesn’t retaliate. Fear is a powerful thing. 

She stands up to face her dad, finished with her breakfast. 

“I don’t know, either. So let me find that out for you,” she half-pleads, half-states. 

Hiram scrutinises her face for a moment and Veronica can’t tell if he’s astonished or angry. 

“Okay,” his dad eventually yields. “But this is his final warning.” 

Veronica’s face pales. 

“You are not going to hurt him, are you, Daddy?” 

Hiram dismisses him with a careless sweep of his hand. 

“Of course not, _mija_.” 

Veronica does not know what to reply to that. 

 

___ 

 

 

The next encounter between Jughead Jones and Veronica Lodge takes place at Pop’s rather predictably. (It’s not like he’s willing to talk to her anywhere else.) 

He’s sat in the booth with Betty and Archie, reminiscing about old times and actually feeling pretty good about himself, when she slides in through the doors. 

He makes a move to stand up but Veronica is already there and he knows he can’t put off this confrontation forever. Who knows, maybe it’s even better to do it when Betty and Archie are here. 

“Veronica,” he says, keeping his tone as demure as possible. 

“Jug, I need to talk to you,” she blurts out and he’s momentarily taken aback. She sounds almost… frightened? He plants his feet back down. Something doesn’t make sense here. 

Veronica curls up next to Archie but her eyes are glued to Jughead’s. 

“How did you manage to get your stuff published in the WSJ?” 

Jughead coughs to cover up a sour laugh. And he had _thought_ …

“Of course.” He shakes his head. “It’s done, Corleone. I published it. I outed your dad. Would you just leave me alone now, _please_?” 

“Yeah, V,” Betty quips in. “Can’t you guys just kinda… move past it, maybe?” 

Archie nods against the raven-haired girl’s neck, planting a kiss there, his other hand etching up her thigh.  

Veronica doesn’t let the sarcasm or the protests or even Archie’s touches faze her. 

“Listen here, Forsythe,” she says, running a hand through her hair. “Just stay out of my dad’s business, okay? I know you think you’re the next Bernstein but this is _serious_.” 

Jughead glowers at her, before hissing:

“I got my stuff published in the WSJ because I called them every day for three weeks. Three weeks, Lodge. And when no one took me seriously, I gathered up my last savings and camped outside of their building in New York for four days. That’s how serious I am about taking down your dad.” 

Veronica throws her hands up in indignation. 

“Well, you’ve got to fucking stop!” 

“I already told you I won’t!” 

“Guys…” Archie groans. Him and Betty have been exchanging concerned looks non-stop during the entire argument. “Can’t we just leave it?” 

“No, Archie!” Jughead snaps and turns to scowl at Veronica. 

“Have you even read my article, Cruella de Vil?” 

Veronica snorts, the moment so uncharacteristic of her, it alters the mood of the whole booth. 

“How do you even come up with these nickn — and no, I haven’t!” 

“Well, then what are you preaching about here, exactly, Lady Catherine?” Jughead hollers back, the corners of his mouth twitching up along with hers. 

For a moment, they just gape at each other. 

“Just quit whatever it is you’re trying to do,” Veronica finally says, the lines of her mouth turning stern again. 

“Read the article and maybe I will,” Jughead shrugs, dismissing the smidge of concern in her voice, the poster-boy of flippant comebacks. 

Veronica doesn’t reply to that. 

They sit at Pop’s for exactly thirty more minutes, munching on their food and switching milkshakes with Betty and Archie. Even though they’re all huddled up in the same booth together, Jughead and Veronica keep their interactions to a bare minimum. It’s almost as if there is an unspoken agreement between them. The most Veronica asks him is if he wants to switch fries, which Jughead replies to with a dour shake of his head. 

After the required time has passed, Veronica gets up and gives him a little glare before kissing Archie goodbye. She already knows she’ll read his article on the way home. 

 

 

_(5)_

 

 

Veronica’s feet are shaking as she steps down the school hallways the next morning. Ever since she’d laid eyes on it in the cab, Jughead’s article has been  playing on her mind in a loop,  like some broken unpleasant gramophone. 

“… _has been behind the decline of the Southside (Riverdale, VT) for many years_ …”

“Hi, Veronica,” Reggie yells, sending her a wink. 

She doesn’t really see him, brushing past her fellow students. 

“… _a clear connection forming between Hiram Lodge and the deaths of his former associates: Lenny Kowalski and Paul Boucher_ …” 

Veronica shakes herself, grabbing her English Lit course-book from the locker. She resists the urge to lean her head against the steel. 

“… _tried to sell off his own daughter in order to secure a business deal with Xander St. Clair_ …” 

She turns around on the spot and rams into one Archie Andrews. 

“Archiekins!” Veronica yelps, gripping onto his shoulders for balance. “You startled me.” 

Archie slings an arm over her slight shoulders. 

“You do look a bit pale, Ronnie,” he says, chuckling.

They start walking towards her next class and Veronica tries to feign tranquility. 

“Really?” She kisses the back of his hand. “What gave you that impression?” 

Archie shakes his head. 

“Ronnie,” he begins. “If you’re still upset about the thing I’ve got going on with your dad —“ 

The raven-haired girl stares at him, puzzled. 

“Hmm?” 

Archie cradles her face as they reach the classroom door. 

“I’m just saying you needn’t be.” His lips graze the top of her head briefly. “Sometimes I feel like you’re slipping away from me, Rons,” her boyfriend whispers before running off to his own lesson. 

Veronica scrunches up her nose. 

 _Has Archie always been so obtuse?_ The girl types and sends a quick text to Betty before entering the classroom. Seeing Jughead’s tense back two seats ahead of her as she plops down on her seat, sobers up her thoughts. 

She needs to do something about this, Veronica figures, her eyes fixed to his back and the way his shoulder blades jut out just a little, visible through the knitted sweater. Veronica tilts her head. His back looks almost…elegant. 

As if feeling her gaze, Jughead turns around in his chair, catching Veronica before she has time to alter her face. 

His mouth parts into a wide grin.

“So, I get that you read the article.” 

Jughead’s loud whisper prompts her classmates to openly stare at her.  Veronica feels like jabbing a pen into her perfect Moleskine notebook. _Rip it apart._ She suppresses the impulse. 

 

___ 

 

 

It’s nearing midnight and he’s typing away at his laptop when the doorbell rings. 

Jughead furrows his brows, his eyes fleeting towards the door. _Who the fuck_ …? After Betty and him broke up, he hasn’t had many visitors. To clarify, he hasn’t had anyone over here ever since. And FP never invites people over to the trailer, either. 

“Can you get it, Jug?” his dad groans from the other room, his voice hoarse. 

Jughead hesitates for a second, still staring at the door. His thoughts travel to the Hiram Lodge article for a moment. Has the Park Avenue mobster sent someone to… _deal with him_? Maybe he should… 

The doorbell rings again. 

“Jug!” FP roars. “The door!” 

Jughead huffs and gets up, stomping towards the trailer entrance. He somehow doubts that Hiram’s henchmen would be able to perform a successful killing with his ill-tempered old man half-asleep in the other room. 

He flings the door open and almost curses. Veronica stares back at him,  unimpressed, standing there in the Southside part of town in a black fur coat and four-inch stilettos. 

And he can’t really help but admire Veronica for her choice of dress-code for a moment. It requires boldness to waltz into the Southside part of town, dressed like some hot, rich fraud. The kind of person Southsiders are taught to fear even before they’re out of the cradle. 

“Jughead?” Veronica begins, bearing his inner musings no mind. “We need to talk.” 

Jughead props a hand under his chin, feigning thoughtfulness. 

“Let me guess… is this… perhaps… about… your dad?”

“Of course, it is,” Veronica beams. “We have nothing else to talk about, nowadays, Forster.” 

Jughead’s ears perk up in morbid curiosity. 

“When did you include _E. M.  Forster_ in the long list of authors you like to call me?” 

“Ever since you started blabbing on about the irreconcilability of class differences in our society non-stop,” Veronica retorts, not missing a beat. 

“That’s a real statement coming from you, Lord Byron.” 

“Are you running out of literary metaphors for my character? I’m not _nearly_ eccentric enough to play Byron.” 

Jughead gestures towards her coat. 

“You were saying?” 

Ronnie hugs the fur closer to her body in defence. _God, it’s really chilly here_. They lapse into a tense silence. Suddenly, Veronica is not so sure she should even be here. She looks at Jughead again, opening her mouth. 

“So…” 

Jughead rubs a hand across his face as he gestures for her to follow him inside, out of the cold.  

“No.” He sighs, leading her towards the living room sofa. It’s the first thing he says after sitting down on the shabby three-legged sofa in the dim-lit kitchen. 

“Veronica, _no,_ ” he repeats. “I am not having this discussion with you again. It’s done. The article’s out. What’s the point of —” 

Veronica takes a step closer, taking a seat on the grimy couch next to him, and pulling a manila folder out from her Birkin. Jughead wonders how she hasn’t flinched away from her surroundings yet. 

“Listen to me,” Veronica says, angling up her face to look into his. “I’ve got proof of my dad’s innocence in this very folder.”

Jughead just shakes his head, resting his neck against the armrest. He’s really tired.

Veronica grabs onto his hand on impulse. 

“Jug, please,” she murmurs. He stares at their linked hands for a moment before his eyes rove towards her face. He can’t quite read the expression on her face. It unsettles him. He flinches his hand away from hers. 

“Just…look through this,” Veronica insists. 

Jughead lets out a quiet sigh. 

“Fine.” 

He takes the folder from her and spends the next fifteen minutes looking through it while Veronica stares at him. Jughead steals glances at her every now and then. Her stare never wavers. In fact, she looks almost like a little girl who’s mentally preparing herself for the “Santa Claus is not real” talk. Someone who’s ready to have her dreams ripped away. She looks like a kid who is anticipating a blow. 

Jughead bites his lip. Groans again. 

“Veronica,” he says, his tone quiet in the near-silent room. “This proves nothing.” 

Veronica heaves a breath.

“It proves that he was an innocent bystander in the murders of Boucher and Kowalski!” 

Jughead just looks at her. 

“Where did you get these?” 

“I — what?” 

Jughead motions towards the documents with his forefinger. 

“Did you knickthemfrom his desk drawer or something?” 

Veronica juts up her chin. 

“Why does it matter?” she retorts. “Are you against theft now or something? Aren’t you a Serpent?” 

Jughead pauses. Veronica Lodge frustrates him. It frustrates him that he doesn’t know how to deal with her. 

“I’m just saying,” he suspires. “If you found these in his office, they are probably not legit. He’d never take that kind of risk of having — ” 

“That was the old Daddy, you don’t know how he’s like now!” 

“Can’t we just agree to disagree?” 

“No!” Veronica yells, jumping up from the couch. “We can’t!” 

“Why not?” Jughead stands up as well, looming over her. He’s closer to her than he’d like to be. 

“Because my dad is innocent!” Veronica screams, her movements turning more and more frantic. “He’s innocent, Jughead!” 

She catches on her breath before letting out a helpless: 

“And no one believes me!” 

Tears are welling up in her eyes now and she’s wobbling in her heels. Jughead just stands there. He wants to reach out an arm to touch her, to say something, comfort her, but she feels so far away in that moment, he does not dare to. 

“Veronica,” he says slowly, taking a tiny step closer. 

The raven-haired girl wipes a stray tear from her cheek. Her manicured nails reach out for the folder on the couch. Jughead picks it up and passes it to her. He’s clutching onto one edge of the file, while Veronica’s hand slides out for the other.  The tide has turned again. Their fingers don’t meet. 

“Forget it,” she snaps, drawing the papers away from his fingers and tying the belt of her coat together, while he stares. “Forget I said anything.” 

She flees the trailer, rattling everything around her. 

The tide has turned once more. 

 

 

_(6)_

 

 

One thing Jughead does not like about living with his dad again, is the everyday obligatory dad-and-son bonding session over breakfast. In the olden days, FP would have never woken up before 10.30 on a weekday, (and woken up sober, first of all) but since getting out of prison some time ago, things have changed. 

Of course, Jughead’s grateful. After all, this is the first time in a long while he’s actually had an active parent figure in his life. But… He’s not gonna lie about it. There are also occurrences where he muses he’d be better off if he still lived at the Twilight Drive-In.

FP starts off his interrogation slowly this morning, he’s careful about treading his cards right. 

Jughead’s sipping his morning coffee in large gulps, his laptop ever-present in front of him, when FP pipes up: 

“So, I take it that you’re friends with the Lodge girl again,” he says, stepping into the kitchen and turning on the oven. 

Jughead snorts behind his computer screen. 

“I can see that happening.” He pauses. “When hell freezes over.” 

FP spreads butter over some toast bread before splashing some ham on them and throwing the slices in the oven. Then he speaks up again. 

“Yeah, see I thought so too, when I heard the two of you arguing in the living room last night.” 

Jughead can feel his face heating up.

“We didn’t want to wake you.” 

“No problem, son.” 

FP whistles and waltzes around the room before rounding on him again.

“So…uh…what did you guys fight about? Hiram Lodge?” 

Jughead almost drops his laptop on the kitchen carpet. _Fuck_.

“You heard that?” 

“Yes, I did!” FP replies, his tone rising. His fist hits the table in a shift motion. 

“Dad —“ 

“How many times, Jug?” FP bellows. “How many times have I told you to keep your nose out of that family’s business? Do you think I didn’t see that bloody WSJ article you wrote about the Lodge empire?” 

“I thought you’d be proud of me for that!” 

“Don’t be a tool, Jug, ” FP barks. He heaves a little, the expression on his face  slowly switching from enraged to troubled. There is a pause before FP places a hand on his son’s shoulder. “Do you think I want to find _my_ _only son_ dead in a ditch somewhere one day?” 

Jughead’s hands ball into fists. 

“Hiram is displacing families in the Southside!” he yells, the beanie wobbling on his head. “He is putting Serpents out of — !” 

“Jughead, stop it!” FP roars.

The boy and the man stare at each other, both of them filled with ire. 

“Jughead,” FP exhales, looking down at him. “This has to stop. As of this moment, you’re suspended from the Serpents. I can’t have you working for me if you aren’t able to keep your act together.” He turns back to the toast whilst Jughead glares at his back. “I’m sorry, son.”

The boy doesn’t even bother to argue. Instead, he scoffs and turns his attention back to the laptop on the table. There’s no point fighting with FP when he is in one of his moods. That’s why Jughead’s been so low-key about all the Serpent stuff in front of his dad, lately. Because, FP just switches off when he hears so much as a mention of the Lodges. Switches off or _goes off_. 

Jughead’s face twists. It’s… it’s not a problem. 

He picks up his phone from the table and sends a quick text to the group chat with Sweet Pea and Toni, smirking as he reads their excited replies. 

Does FP really think that him and the gang aren’t going to deal with this shit on their own? 

 

___ 

 

 

“This is pretty fun,” Toni muses, kicking up a cardboard box filled with cocaine, disguised as hard-boiled candies, with the heel of her combat boot. 

It’s a misty Sunday evening and the three of them are lounging around near Sweetwater River, where some of Hiram Lodge’s most valuable stash is buried. 

“I agree,” Sweet Pea wolf-whistles, throwing another one of the boxes to the back of his pick-up track. “Regular Sunday night fun.” 

“How did you even get us this gig?” Toni questions, continuing her mucking about with the boxes. 

Jughead grins. 

“I told Penny Peabody she’d be allowed back in with the Serpents if we could screw over Hiram a little.” 

Toni’s countenance remains mischievous but her eyes darken a bit. 

“Jug! That was a bit much.” 

“Yeah, man,” Sweet Pea shakes his head, kicking the tire of his car. 

“Hey, I’ve got this,” the beanie-wearing boy affirms, busying around with the boxes as well. They do need to get out of here before nightfall. “We’ve dealt with Penny before, you guys.” 

The other Serpents just stare at him. 

“Guys,” Jughead almost laughs. “She can’t go stirring up shit again, otherwise Hiram will know it was her who snitched.” 

Sweet Pea’s satisfied with that answer but Jughead can tell that Toni is still a bit sceptical even though she doesn’t say anything. Eventually, they all settle into the front seat of SP’s truck, listening to The Clash and cruising down the streets Riverdale, the dozens of boxes of coke safely tucked away in the back of the truck. The stars are out now and the sky is a mix of purples and blues and violets. The crisp wind brushes against their skins as Jughead opens up a window. 

“What a way to spend our adolescence here in Riverdale,” Toni howls out of the sunroof, bumping her tiny fist in the air, whilst Jughead fiddles with the car radio. 

“The best,” Sweet Pea grins back at her. 

“I wonder what Cheryl would think of this,” Jughead yells back at her, amused when Toni’s expression transforms into a shit-eating grin. 

“She already knows.” 

Jughead lifts an almost curious eyebrow. 

“And what did she say?” 

Toni twirls around, closing up the sunroof and falling back on her seat, smiling from ear to ear. 

“She knows that I need to blow off some steam once in a while.” 

Jughead chuckles and the tires screech as they pull to a stop near the water’s edge. They have chosen a tiny wooden cliff for the drop-off, about seven miles east from the original hiding place. Here, the forest is filled with underwood, which obscures them from the rest of the world. 

Toni hops off first, grabbing a box from the back and hiking up the minuscule hill. 

“Not very humanitarian of us, is it?” Toni ponders, dropping the box into the ghostly pitch black water rather unceremoniously. 

“Not very humanitarian of them to be selling coke to teenagers,” Sweet Pea throws back and they both chortle. Jughead guffaws behind them. It’s moments like these that make him feel glad to have joined the Serpents. 

“Just try not to break the boxes on their way down and we’ll be fine,” Sweet Pea advises, shrugging his shoulders. 

They finish the rest of the job pretty quickly, letting the boxes fall into the deep depths of  water one by one. Toni snaps a photo of the three of them for Cheryl, before hopping into the car and captioning it #TheThreeMusketeers. Jughead rolls his eyes, declaring he’s had enough of their shenanigans for the entirety of the month. Still, he is coerced into starring in the photo, too, sending Toni and Sweet Pea death glares from the corner of the frame. 

 

___ 

 

 

“I was surprised when you invited me to stay at Thornhill,” Veronica confesses, lazily flicking through the channels in Cheryl’s very own cinema room, a recent addition to the Thornhill mansion. 

“Well, I couldn’t get Toni to come here tonight and you’re the next best thing, _cherie_ ,” Cheryl replies, throwing her feet off the bed. She furrows a brow. “I hope you’re not complaining. I hate being alone in this ghastly house.” 

“Cheryl,” Veronica shakes her head. “Contrary to popular belief, I actually happen to like you.” 

The other girl regards her with one of her rare, genuine smiles. 

“Good. You’re not too bad yourself, V.” 

They curl up under the blankets together and eventually settle on _Rear Window_ , Veronica’s still not quite over her Hitchcock phase. 

The raven-haired girl finds that she quite enjoys how Cheryl seems to have something to say about everything, commenting on Grace Kelly’s lavish dresses and extensively criticising her character, Lisa, for being a “precious airhead”. 

“I just don’t get it,” the redhead bemoans, when they get to the scene where Lisa and Stella dig up the flowers in the courtyard. 

“Thelma Ritter has a much more compelling screen presence, why didn’t they just make this movie about her?” 

Veronica narrows her eyes at her friend. 

“Did you just try to call _Grace Kelly_ overrated?” 

Cheryl shakes her head, pulling out her phone. 

“Just think about it, V. Would she have ever made it big in Hollywood if she wasn’t so visually striking?” 

Veronica purses her lips, not really thinking about the words that flood out of her mouth. 

“You sound like Jughead, when I tried to watch this with him.” 

Cheryl’s tone turns syrupy in an instant, her smile stretching into something unbelievably smug. 

“When did _you_ have time to watch a film with one Jughead Jones?” 

“When we went to that cabin last spring,” Veronica scoffs. “What, like it’s some big scoop that he likes old movies?” 

Cheryl raises her hands up, still smirking. 

“I’m just saying…” 

“Well, don’t,” Veronica retorts, turning her face back to the screen again. Cheryl snorts and follows her lead but the smirk on the redhead’s lips is inexorable. 

 

___ 

 

 

They fall asleep in the cinema room somewhere in the middle of watching _Auntie Mame_ , Cheryl’s face falling onto Veronica’s shoulder as she snores lightly. It’s been a long Sunday for the both of them. 

Veronica, a notorious light sleeper, is waken from her slumber sometime later that night by the loud beeps of Cheryl’s phone. 

At first, the girl thinks about waking up Cheryl as her cell continues on buzzing. But seeing as her friend doesn’t even stir in spite of the racket, she thinks better of it. 

Instead, she moves to her side gradually, sliding a hand under the redhead’s pillow and sliding her phone out from underneath it in a quick flash. 

She moves to silence it but one of her fingers must’ve accidentally hit the unlock button because the screen flashes bright and the girl finds herself looking at Cheryl’s Snapchat, a picture of Sweet Pea, Toni and Jughead winking back at her. 

She means to close it, and yet Veronica finds herself glancing at the snap once more. She reads the caption, squinting her eyes. Then she notices where they are and her stomach does an unpleasant twist. 

 _What the fuck are the Serpents doing in daddy’s cache_? 

 

___ 

 

 

Veronica’s on edge for the entirety of next week. She doesn’t dare to confide in Archie, worried that he might skip over to Hiram and tell on the Serpents the moment she’s finished talking. 

The girl can’t tell Cheryl, that would be admitting she basically went through her friend’s phone. 

Betty’s out of the question, too, who knows how she might retaliate. Ronnie knows that B is in therapy now, finally getting the help she needs. Veronica honestly feels like that is entirely Reggie’s doing but anyhow, she doesn’t want to disrupt her friend’s progress. 

And Jughead… She shakes her shoulders and wonders what might’ve happened to piss Jughead off so much that he’d go from writing spiteful articles to getting physically involved. 

But she can’t contact him anymore, either. That would be…it would be like provoking an irritated rattlesnake with a stick. Veronica would like to believe he’d pay attention to her hints at a catastrophe ahead but their recent history has proven otherwise. 

So, who does that leave her with? No one. She has herself and that has to be enough. 

 

___ 

 

 

In the end, Veronica’s prepared. 

When her dad comes into her room one evening, raging about the Jones boy, the raven-haired girl doesn’t even flinch. 

“It is not Jughead Jones you need to be worried about, daddy,” she says, her tone grievous. “It was the St. Clairs who got rid of your drugs. Nick sent me a snap of himself at Sweetwater River.” 

She sighs, her expression radiating off absolute distaste. 

“Unfortunately, I’d forgotten to remove the asshole from my Snapchat. ” 

His dad storms off, leaving Veronica shaking in her bed. 

She knows he won’t hurt the Serpents now. Right, _right_? Not after she said they weren’t guilty. 

 _Daddy wouldn’t want to scare me too much_ , Veronica thinks. Her eyes squeeze shut. What is she thinking? It’s sinful to even contemplate this. 

 

___ 

 

 

When Jughead reaches his locker after another long and tiring attempt at Chemistry, he’s surprised to find Cheryl “the Antichrist” Blossom leaning against it, eyes steaming. She is accompanied by Toni, who is standing next to her girlfriend with her arms crossed over her chest.

“Jughead, you are a fucking ass!” 

Toni stomps towards him all of a sudden, and manages to land a well-aimed blow against his shoulders with her backpack.

Jughead yelps. 

“Tone, the fuck?!” 

Cheryl coughs, demanding his attention. 

“Jughead, ‘ _Jim Jones_ ’ III, ” she says, looking at him as if he’s scum under her  Manolo Blahniks. “I hereby demand you to back the fuck off and away from Veronica.” 

Jughead coughs up a bewildered laugh. 

“What the —“ 

They don’t let him get on with his sentence. 

“I can’t believe you!” Toni howls. “How could you?” 

Jughead’s left momentarily speechless by Toni’s ferocity, something that doesn’t happen to him very often. He just can’t seem to comprehend why he’s suddenly found himself under attack. 

“Let me explain,” Cheryl declares in a sickly sweet tone. “My girl Ronnie just put her life in danger trying to save your scrawny ass from Hiram Lodge. Is it needless to say this does not fly with _moi_?” 

“‘What th— “ 

“Oh, please, would you just cut it out?” Toni cries out. “Veronica already told  Cheryl how she lied to her dad about the St Clairs being behind the drug bust so that Hiram wouldn’t go after the Serpents again.” 

Her eyes are heavy with disappointment. Jughead sucks in a breath. 

“Veronica did _what_?” 

 

 

_(7)_

 

 

It’s almost a cosmic joke that when Jughead Jones III finally goes out of his way to search for Veronica Lodge, the Park Avenue princess is suddenly nowhere to be found. 

She’s not hanging out with Betty and when Jughead asks Archie if he’s seen her around, the redheaded lad just shrugs. 

As a last resort, Jughead starts hanging around at Pop’s at odd hours, in the hopes of seeing her come through these doors. 

It’s a late, achingly hot summer’s night two weeks before senior prom, with the lilies and peonies in full bloom and the faintly sweet smell of vanilla and maple syrup wafting through the open windows at Pop’s, when he finally catches up to her. 

“Veronica,” he jumps up from the bar stool as she glides through the doors, wearing a long, sweeping red-and-white paisley print linen summer dress, hair tied up in a bun, and the ensemble fazes him for a moment, which isn’t entirely surprising, considering just how uncharacteristic of herself she looks. 

“Veronica, I need to talk to you,” he repeats himself and the girl pales. 

“Jughead, if you’re here to stir shit again…” she sighs and trails off, opting to stare at the ceramic tiles in Pop’s. 

The dark-haired boy feels like he’s been punched in the gut. 

“Veronica, no.” He shakes his head. “I…I wanted to thank you.” 

They both stare at each other and even though, Jughead knows he came here to apologise to her, it seems like they’re both caught off guard for a moment, not expecting this turn of events. 

Veronica recovers first, motioning towards their usual booth. 

“Let’s sit down.” 

They both take a seat and after placing their orders, an odd silence falls over the two. Once again, Veronica is the one to break it. 

“Do you know that this is the first time we’re sitting here without Betty and Archie?” she muses, gesturing to their signature booth. 

“That’s not entirely surprising,” Jughead chuckles and suddenly, the air feels a bit lighter, less heavy, making him able to utter his next words. 

“I’m really sorry about the whole shit with your dad.” 

Veronica reaches towards the back of her neck, twirling with the pearls on her necklace. 

“I’m listening.” 

“I… I’m just… I shouldn’t have given you so much shit over it. He is your _dad_ , after all.” Jughead pauses. Veronica opens her mouth to say something but he lifts up a hand. 

“I’m not saying I feel sorry for ever getting involved in the first place, I just…I overstepped.” 

His cheeks heat up a little at his words. It’s not easy admitting you’ve been a stubborn cunt. 

Veronica furrows a brow. She opens her mouth, then closes it again. 

“Jug, I don’t want you to apologise just because you feel guilty,” she says eventually. 

“That’s not why I’m apologising!” Jughead half-yelps in surprise, jerking his head to the side. “You saved my life, Veronica!” 

That statement earns them some looks from the other guests in the diner. Veronica smirks. 

“That’s a gross overstatement, Capote,” she quips. 

“No,” Jughead says after a beat, staring at her. He has a sudden, fervent urge to reach out his hand, to merge their fingers together. “It isn’t to me.” 

And that…and _that_ … 

Veronica doesn’t really know what to reply to his declaration. So, she goes with a witty comeback instead. 

“Are you proposing a truce, Capote?” she says, trying to keep her distinguished air. “Has Hogwarts finally fallen?” 

“That depends, are you with the Slytherins?”

She lifts an eyebrow at him. 

“Are you?” 

Jughead snorts. 

“I think we both know that I’m a Ravenclaw doing his best to fit in with the Ser — Slytherins.” 

_And hey, where did that come from?_

“Yeah,” Veronica laughs. “Same.” 

Jughead folds his arms in front of his jacket. 

“So. Should we shake hands to seal our truce or — ?” he muses, and he’s momentarily thrown aback when Veronica quickly responds: 

“Just your word’s fine, Oscar Wilde.” 

Jughead misses her discomfort because he’s too busy comprehending the new nickname. 

“Oscar Wilde? I’m sorry, Lodge, but that was really baseless.” 

“It was!” Veronica concedes, biting back a laugh. “I don’t know where I was going with that!”

They fall into a lull of silence and it’s not nearly as unbearable as they’d expected. This time it’s Jughead who says something, breaking their make-believe bubble. 

“So, about your dad,” he asks, tentatively. “How are you coping?” 

Veronica shrugs her shoulders. 

“I’m…” She means to say that she’s doing okay, that everything’s great, but instead, something else bubbles over her lips. 

“I honestly feel like I’m a bit lost sometimes.” 

“Meaning?” 

“Like… I don’t know how I’m supposed to react to the whole _Goodfellas_ theme going on at home. And…” she furrows her brow, realising something. “You’re actually the first person who’s asked me how I’ve been in a while.” 

Jughead wonders if she’s always seemed so small. 

“Veronica…” 

“I don’t want your pity,” she replies in a flash. 

Jughead raises his hands up in protest. 

“I wasn’t gonna —“ His lips lift up at the corners. “I was actually going to offer you sage advice.” 

“ _Oh, yeah? Like what_?” 

“Like… take some time for yourself,” he supplies, tapping his fingers against the smooth surface of the table. “Figure out what’s best for you.” His expression turns playful. “Sort out your shit.” 

“Hey!” Veronica yells. “The same goes for you, Torombolo!” 

“I didn’t imply otherwise, Corleone.” 

He can tell that her guard is still up, but Veronica’s face softens, even if just by a fraction. 

“You know, I honestly believed you were going to tell me to testify against daddy for a moment there or something.” 

She doesn’t say anything else but Jughead reads between the lines, anyway. 

_Thanks for not doing that._

“Hey,” he says. “I’m not permitted to say any of… that anymore. It would grossly breech the terms of our peace treaty.” 

“That it would,” Veronica replies, but her demeanour remains serious. She pauses. “Thanks for the advice, Jug.” 

“Anytime.” 

He raises his milkshake glass on impulse, nodding at her. She does the same, waiting for his toast. 

“To our peace treaty.” 

Veronica grins at him, adopting a fanciful British accent. 

“And may it be long and fruitful.” 

Jughead almost drops the glass down the the ground. 

“Okay, that was a bit much, Lodge,” he says, steadying the silverware on the table.  “We’re not on The Brady Bunch.” 

Veronica nods in agreement, settling on her trademark scowl instead. 

“It really was, Caulfield.” 

They finish their burgers in silence. After all, there are some boundaries in the fair world of Riverdale, that can’t be crossed. 

 

 

_(8)_

 

 

Everyone is surprised when their peace treaty remains intact all the way until graduation. No, Jug and Ronnie are still not best friends. In fact, they are not friends, period. 

Even now, Jughead just barely nods at her when her shoulder brushes against his arm in the hallways, and Veronica is reticent in the same manner, if not more. 

But times, they are-a-changin’ or however that old saying goes, even though the alterations may seem minuscule at first. 

For example, despite Sweet Pea’s scoffs and disbelieving sneers when Jug tells the fellow Serpent about his plans, Jughead leaves the Lodges alone. He is reluctant in letting go of the whole ordeal but eventually, goes against his better (or worse) judgements. 

And Veronica surprises them all by resigning from student presidency, bestowing the vacant leadership position upon a more than willing Cheryl, and flying off to New York right after their finals are over and done with. 

“It’s just a quick retreat before graduation, guys,” she tells them at Pop’s, smiling in her fox-like way, _four hours_ before her departure. “I’ll be back before you know it.” 

Jughead snorts. 

“Coming back for a final feast with us commoners, Marie Antoinette?” 

Ronnie makes a face at her and disappears off with Archie Andrews. 

Betty pulls Jughead away from Kevin and Josie. 

“Juggie,” she whispers, holding onto his elbow. “Don’t you think V’s acting a bit strange lately?” 

Jughead’s lips twitch up at the corners. 

“Betty,” he says. “Do I look like someone who knows what’s going on in _Veronica’s_ head?” 

 

___ 

 

 

It looks like Jughead must know something, though. 

Why else would Veronica show up to his trailer two weeks later, dragging two large suitcases behind her back, sweat dripping down her perfect eyebrows. 

Jughead’s sitting outside on the porch, a lit cigarette in his hand and a thermos  filled to the brim with Red Bull and coffee by his side. 

“Veronica?” 

He draws in a breath, voice groggy from the lack of sleep. _Is it really her?_ He doesn’t get up to greet her but shifts slightly, straightening up. 

“Jughead,” she replies, a little out breath, setting her bags down near the door, before declaring unceremoniously: 

“I came to warn you and your dad.” 

A cold sliver of thread climbs down the boy’s spine. There’s a part of him that thinks; since when did they go about issuing warnings to each other in the middle of the night, but the other, bigger part is already thinking about his Swiss army knife, stowed away in his bedside drawer, getting battle ready, so to speak. 

“ _Tell me._ ” 

He’s already up, stubbing out the cigarette under the sole of his shoe, an urgent look in his eyes. 

“The Ghoulies are planning another attack against the Serpents.” 

“How do you — “ 

“ _Don’t_ ask me how I know this, ” Veronica snaps, glaring at him. 

“But —“ 

“Don’t do it, Jughead.” 

Jughead groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“Well, can you tell me _anything_ else?” 

Veronica hesitates for a fleeting moment before squaring her shoulders. 

“I would keep watch at Picken’s park for the next few days.” 

Jughead opens his mouth again but Veronica beats him to it. 

“I’m not giving you anything else,” she says simply, picking up her bags again. The brunette turns back on her heels, looking at him expectedly. 

“What?” Jughead retorts, hands at his hips. 

“Are you going to help me with my luggage or what?” 

Jughead lets out a little huff, hopping off the front porch and grabbing one of the smaller bags in his hands. 

“Happy now, Corleone?” 

Veronica beams at him. 

“Extremely.” 

They heave the bags all the way down the rugged street, mud squishing against their shoes, both of them panting and sweating. They are rounding a corner towards the main alleyway when Veronica stills him with a wave of her hand. Her voice is oddly quiet when she speaks. 

“Can you just stop here, please?” 

“ _What_?” 

Veronica rolls her eyes at him. 

“I’ve got it from here. Thanks, Jughead.” 

Jughead furrows a brow at her. He wants to ask her what kind of game she’s playing, or more importantly, _what the hell is all of this_ , but something prompts him not to. 

“Are you sure?” he says instead, the words getting mixed up in his mouth. 

“Quite certain, yes,” she quips back, clutching onto her bags. 

“Well…” Jughead regards her tentatively, shoving his hands in his jeans pockets. “Uh…thank you, Veronica.” 

“Anytime.” 

Veronica nods at him, tucking a stray hair behind her ear. There is something half-hearted in the way she holds herself tonight, Jughead notices before turning away. He wishes he didn’t. 

Looking back at this summery scene in the Southside, just before prom, he often thinks he never quite understood the magnitude of their actions back then.

 

___ 

 

 

Veronica doesn’t know why she had told Jughead about the Ghoulies attack. Scratch that. Lately, she hasn’t been able to comprehend her actions at all. 

All she knows is that when she’d overheard Hiram and Andre conspiring against the Serpents just before leaving for New York, her first instinct had been to _snitch_. 

It was the only thing she thought about for the entirety of her New York trip. She  had been fixated, mad, unhinged. Many times Veronica had opened up her chat with Jughead on WhatsApp, ready to divulge and confess to her sins, but the blank screen of their chat had held her back. They had never sent each other any messages. Even if it was life or death. Especially if it was life or death. So, she had decided to tell him in person. 

Oddly, walking away from Jughead and crashing into the leather seat of one of daddy’s cars, doesn’t make her feel much better. 

She feels like there’s still a piece missing. 

An absence behind her ribcage that can’t be washed away by any simple confession. It probably has something to do with her dad. Like all her issues, apparently. 

But there lies something contradictory inside her chest as well. It is the simple fact that his dad is everything her. He has always stood by her and that’s not something Veronica has been brought up to take lightly. _Él es familia._

The last year’s events taught Veronica a lot about loyalty and how impermanent it could be. But family…family was eternal. Right? 

She feels her stomach swirl unpleasantly and the pearls rattle against her neck. 

_Why had she double-crossed him?_

 

___ 

 

 

That’s how he finds her, by the way. Sitting by the half-empty glass of (what used to be) a chocolate milkshake in the darkest corner of Pop’s, a vacant look in her eyes. 

Jughead had come in here to grill Toni about the developments of the court case against Penelope Blossom and to discuss the events of the Ghoulies attack that had sort of passed him by but Tone had to rain-check at the last minute and so, Jughead finds Veronica instead. 

She only notices when he plops down next to her. The girl winces, her hand flying up to her neck, the sudden movement effectively knocking her out of her delirium.

“Jughead,” she murmurs. “I didn’t see you there.” 

Jughead can’t help but not notice the tangible despair in her features. It unnerves him. He clears his throat. 

“You know… not that it’s any of my business, Lodge, but… are you okay?” 

Veronica wrings her hands together. 

“Of course I am!” 

“Are you sure?” 

“I… what’s it to you, Jughead?” The retort is quick on her tongue.

A moment of silence passes between them, quick as a feather. He absent-mindedly notices the clock on the wall, counting towards 1 am. They are the only two people sitting at this corner and it’s almost sinister how light this moment feels. 

There has never been an extended period of time in which they haven’t reverted back to being antagonistic with each other eventually and yet…the silence doesn’t cut like a knife _at all_ , it’s more like, well, _actually_ , like … 

Ah well. Maybe it’s the nagging simplicity of it all that makes Jughead utter his next words. 

“You know, whenever I’m in a shit mood, I come to Pop’s as well. Even though, it usually makes it worse.” 

Veronica motions for him to elaborate, just a little bit of that infamous lazy curiosity flickering in her gaze. 

“What do you mean?” 

“Well, it doesn’t…exactly feel like home here anymore.” He pauses, stealing a glance at her. “Don’t you think?” 

To his surprise, Veronica nods quickly. 

“I used to love this place,” she whispers. “Stopping by to get milkshakes with Betty. All our midnight cheer squad tactic sessions with Cheryl. But now it just feels like Overlook Hotel.” 

“Fucking hollow?” 

“Yeah.” 

They fall into a lull of silence again. Jughead steals another glance at her. 

“Hey, you know what…” he mutters, then stops, shaking his head. 

“What?” Ronnie says, her brow quirking up. 

“Nah, forget it.” 

“Come on, what?” 

“You would _never_ go for it, Corleone.” 

Veronica’s eyes narrow at him, her hands flying to her hips. 

“ _Capote_ …”  

Jughead chuckles. 

“Fine. _Fine_. I was thinking we should watch _Misery_ here at Pop’s. You know, the —“ 

“— the 1990 lesser-known classic, directed by Rob Reiner and based on the iconic Stephen King novel of the same name. Yes, Capote, I do know.” 

Jughead can’t quite conceal the astonishment creeping its way into his face. 

“You — you’d be up for it?” 

Veronica scoffs, nudging her finished milkshake away from her. 

“I was the one who mentioned Overlook Hotel.” 

“That’s from —“ 

“The Shining, yes. Potato pothato.” Veronica tosses her hair back, her eyes narrowing. “You know, if you keep up that intellectual superiority act, I might have to reconsider.” 

Jughead laughs. 

“No luck this time, Miss Hepburn. I’ve already got a copy of it on my laptop.” 

“Of _course,_ you do.” 

 

___ 

 

 

Later, Jughead finds himself shivering at Pop’s. He watches as Veronica demands “a selection of blankets” from Pop Tate with a little grin plastered on his face after the worrisome owner switches off the central heating at three o’clock in the morning. 

His amusement is short-lived, though, as Veronica eventually gets her wish, and then outright refuses to share the said blankets with Jughead. 

“I was correct to call you Marie Antoinette,” Jughead retorts, his teeth clattering together after Veronica grandly pulls the last worn comforter away from him. 

“It’s a good nickname,” she concedes, flashing her fox-like smile. 

He can’t help but notice, though, that as the shattering of his teeth begins to border on cacophony, one of the lumpier blankets starts to creep towards him surreptitiously. Eventually, he seizes it. 

“You are _so_ obvious.” 

“I wasn’t able to hear the film anymore, just because you can’t handle a little cold,” she throws back at him and he scoffs. 

They continue watching the Rob Reiner masterpiece and Jughead almost outright snorts when it turns out that Veronica, in fact, supports Annie and her crazy antics.

“Are you _serious_?” he drawls as they watch how Annie, dissatisfied with the ending of his book, locks Paul in his room. 

“Jughead,” she glares at him, shaking her head. “I, too, would be _outraged_ if I found out my favourite author killed off my favourite character.” 

“Veronica,” he replies sternly. “You are talking about a woman who was literally responsible for several murders of innocent children.” 

She waves a hand at him, stealing a cold chicken nugget from his plate. 

“All I’m saying is that if he didn’t fuck up the book, the psycho probably would’ve left him alone.” 

It is only when they are deep into the debate and Jughead notices the beginnings of an amused smile form on her lips that something dawns on him. 

“You were never serious, were you?” he asks and Veronica has a field day. 

She looks so smug and positively _glittering_ in victory, Jughead wonders how she hasn’t transformed into Draco Malfoy yet, of which he gravely informs her. 

“Oh, please,” Veronica laughs after the credits roll, her voice dropping down an octave.  “You had fun tonight. Unlike myself, I might add.” 

“You are in a desperate need of a reality check,” Jughead scoffs at her retreating back, straightening the beanie on his head. It’s only when he is walking home to his trailer park that he begrudgingly accepts the truth. 

On the Northside of town, Veronica Lodge leans her head against the cool leather of the taxi, thinking the same thing. The truth is…. the truth is, she isn’t used to this particular brand of breezy, light fun and banter anymore. 

 

 

_(9)_

 

 

With the school prom looming over their heads, etching nearer with each passing day, the air has begun thrumming with anticipation among the seniors in Riverdale High. It is needless to say that there are no more late night meet-ups between the two snarkers. 

Cheryl Blossom is one person particularly excited for prom, obviously. And she has made it her life mission to drag Veronica to each and every one of her dress fittings, pedicures and soirees. 

This overeagerness reaches a spectacular climax in the evening before the big event, when Veronica manages to fall asleep in Cheryl’s powder room, in the midst of hearing her friend’s thorough analysis on some of the most legendary prom looks of Hollywood cinema. She tears apart almost all of the outfits appearing in her exclusive collection of chick flicks, whilst Veronica snores. 

“Ronnie,” Cheryl snaps. “Wouldn’t you say that the dreadful blue gown from 10 Things I Hate About You looked like it was from Urban Outfitters?” 

Veronica’s eyelids flutter a little. She hears something buzzing around her head and clamps an arm over the ear that’s not already covered by a pillow. 

“ _Ronnie_?” 

Veronica jolts awake. Cheryl’s staring down at her, her lips pursed together in a tight line. 

“Did _you_ just fall asleep listening to _me_ , _Ronniekins_?” Cheryl says in that syrupy tone of hers, the one that only she can get away with. 

Veronica swallows. 

“I… I’ve had a very long hard day.” 

“That is not an excuse! Normally, I would be all for a little, rejuvenating 5 o’ clock nap but this is the night before prom, Ronnie!”  Cheryl almost gasps. Veronica has to bite back a smirk. 

“I… I’m sorry.” 

“And lest we not let it happen again!” 

“Prom’s hardly a reason enough for you to act so Shakespearean,” Veronica quips before she’s silenced by the redhead’s withering glare. 

“Veronica Cecilia Lodge,” Cheryl declares, placing a perfectly manicured hand on her chest, her entire countenance almost biblical. The brunette’s lips twitch. “Prom is everything to me.” 

Veronica snorts and when Cheryl opts for another one of her Ice Queen stares, she gives up, letting out a borderline hysterical laugh. Veronica’s laughing so hard, she almost ends up falling down from the baldachin couch. 

Cheryl bares her teeth in an unexpected smile and scoffs. 

“Well, the pathos seems to work on some people.”

“What is it?” the redhead continues after her friend’s laughing fit has passed. 

“What do you mean?” 

“Tell me what’s really bothering you, V.” 

There is an immediate shift in the room. Veronica starts to fidget with the belt that’s holding her silky bathrobe together. Cheryl chooses to display a rare moment of class and decides to wait a moment, resuming to try on different shades of eye shadow. She needs to be dressed to the nines for tomorrow. 

“I…” Veronica says, observing her friend’s reflection in the mirror. “I’m not sure if I should go to prom.” 

Cheryl is applying the silvery eyeshadow to her crease now, her only obvious reaction is the slight quirk of an eyebrow at herself. 

“I… know that you must think I’m starting to show antisocial tendencies or something but… I… I still don’t feel like I fit in with the Riverdale crowd and after the drama that went down with my dad last year, that is _still_ going down, mind you, I just feel like I ought not to— “ 

Cheryl slams her eyeshadow palette shut and moves to sit down beside Veronica, her arms flying to her shoulders, planting a light kiss on one of them. 

“Ronnie,” she whispers, combing through her friend’s hair with delicate fingers. “We are _not_ our parents.” 

Veronica turns to look at her. 

“Not everyone seems to think so.” 

Cheryl’s expression hardens. 

“Yeah, but it’s what _we’ve_ chosen to put our faith in.”

“I know you think I should go.” 

“And you should,” Cheryl smooths down her best friend’s wild curls, her expression defiant. “If you choose not to do something because of what some peasants might think, then I don’t know even who is the Gollum sitting next to me right now. Because it sure as hell can’t be Veronica fuckin’ Lodge.”

Cheryl shudders at the swear word escaping her lips and Veronica laughs, squeezing her eyes shut as she wraps her hands around Cheryl’s shoulders. She is this close to crying. 

“Thanks for the advice, Cher. It really means a lot, I…” 

“Okay, okay.” Cheryl kisses the other girl on the top of her head before hoisting herself up from the couch. “Let’s not get over-emotional.” 

Veronica arches an eyebrow at her. 

“Why? Have you got a reputation to uphold?” 

“Ahem. You are talking to Cheryl Bombshell. I’ve got more problems than my reputation, cherie.” 

Veronica starts humming the iconic chorus of 99 Problems before Cheryl attacks the raven-haired girl with an eyelash curler. That silences her for approximately the next fifteen seconds. 

 

___ 

 

 

The loud toll of the doorbell echoes throughout the old mansion. Its church-bell like chiming is like a whisper from the past, from the era of petticoats, horseback riding and fine china. 

For a moment, Veronica thinks she’s travelled back in time. Indeed, where is her lady’s maid? Shouldn’t she be getting ready for her morning tea and biscuits with the family? Pinning her hair to her hat or adjusting the — ? 

Cheryl’s loud groan disrupts her panicked fantasy. The redhead’s hand flies up, grasping her satin pillow and hauling it across the room. A variety of obscene curses flies from the girl’s mouth until — 

“Can you please get the door, pretty please, with cherries and whipped cream on top?” 

Veronica narrows her eyes at Cheryl before leaping off the bed and tip-toeing towards the bedroom door. She glances back before closing the door quietly, seeing as Cheryl has already dug her way back under the numerous blankets and pillows. Veronica rolls her eyes. 

The house is eerie in the morning. Of course, that should be expected since Nana Rose had passed away last spring and Penelope’s in prison. And it really doesn’t look all that spine-chilling after Cheryl’s clever renovations. The walls have been painted over twice and are now eggshell white. Most of the old art nouveau furniture is gone, along with dust, having been replaced with some lighter Victorian and Regency pieces in pastels and deep red. There is still something rather glum about the place but, well, you can’t obliterate everything. 

The chiming has switched to loud knocking now, and Veronica paddles down the stairs hurriedly. 

Her hand tightens around the bronze doorknob before pushing on the heavy oak door and finding herself face to face with her own boyfriend.

 

___ 

 

 

“My god, Archie,” Veronica greets him, stepping outside and letting the door fall shut behind her. She doesn’t want Cheryl to have a fit because of the ‘two harlots’ interrupting her beauty sleep. Yes, Veronica’s lived through that before. 

“Good heavens, Arch, ” she repeats. “What are you doing here?” She winks at him. “Are you here to kidnap me before prom?” 

Archie doesn’t return her smiles. 

“Actually, I…” 

“Do you want to take a walk around the gardens?” Veronica chirps, tightening the knot on her bathrobe and pulling it closer to her skin. It is quite chilly for a Friday morning in mid-June and the grass is wet and dripping against her toes. 

“I, uh…” Archie looks wildly uncomfortable, standing here on Cheryl’s front lawn. “A walk would be great, thanks.” 

She links their arms together and they set off, passing the bushes of wild roses and chicories on their way deeper inside the maze. The air is crisp and cool against Veronica’s skin but she can feel something whispering around them, and she knows it’s weird that Archie’s here right now. Her skin is bristling with anticipation. 

 _Isn’t it strange how this is the first time they’ve been alone in a month_? 

Of course, it is. 

“So,” Veronica begins, her tone still chirpy. “What did you wanna talk about, Archiekins?” 

Archie swallows. 

“I…um… actually, Veronica…” 

The raven-haired girl gives him her best wayward smile. 

“What is it, Archie, my sweet?” 

“I can’t do this anymore, Veronica.” 

The words reach her from afar. Her eyes are focused on Archie’s lips but Veronica’s mind is elsewhere. She is wondering if she should’ve seen this coming. In fact, if she’s being honest…she’s been more focused on _Jughead_ these past few months than on her actual boyfriend. But still… _his_ Archiekins, he can’t be …

“Veronica?” 

Veronica’s eyes snap up to meet his, his voice breaking her out of the daydream state. She can hear birds rustling in the maple trees and she feels so very… 

“Hmm?” 

“Ronnie, say something… please.” 

Archie looks helpless and desperate, like he was afraid of coming here and delivering the news. _Which_ , Veronica scoffs mentally, _he probably was_. 

She wants to remark how he’s made himself out to be this sweet, concerned boyfriend character and how overkill it really is. She wants to drawl out the words but the eloquence of her thoughts doesn’t quite reach her speech. 

“Are _you_ breaking up with _me_?” is all Veronica can muster. And God, isn’t that such a Park Avenue princess thing to say? 

Archie shuffles his feet. 

“What?” 

“I asked you if you were breaking up with me.” 

Veronica squares her shoulders, glaring up at him. It’s like she can’t shake off her old persona emerging through the cracks. 

“I’m only…” Archie hesitates, “I… _yes_.” 

“And may I ask, _why_?” 

Archie scoffs, in spite of himself. 

“You’re asking me that? Seriously?” 

“It’s the day of prom,” Veronica almost seethes. 

Archie shakes his head. 

“Yeah, that’s what you care about, Ronnie, isn’t it? Prom. We haven’t had a  real conversation in like, 3 months, and you’re still blaming me for getting involved with your dad. This is not about prom!” 

“Careful, Archie,” Veronica spits, desperately trying to keep her calm. “I’m starting to think you love Daddy more than me.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“We have never had a real conversation, _by the way,_ ” Veronica drones on, not paying attention. “We just had a lot of exemplary sex. But to dump me before prom night, that…” 

She pauses, scrunching up her nose. 

“That shows real class.” 

Archie quickly jumps to his defence. 

“You’re blaming me for saying that I just can’t do this? We just don’t work like we used to anymore, Ronnie. I’m just trying to be honest! And I’m very sorry but — ” 

“You’re right about one thing, Archiekins. We don’t work.” 

“So, why are you getting so angry?” 

Veronica’s tiny hands ball up into fists. She’s suddenly regretting every choice she’s ever made in regard to Archie and it hits her like a tidal wave. 

“Because this should’ve ended a long time ago! I should’ve ended this!” she yells, and briefly considers tuning it down as she notices the hurt, puppy-dog look on his face. But she can’t. How else do you rectify a tremendous oversight such as this?

“Stay away from my dad,” she says instead, glaring at him. Archie opens his mouth, probably to protest, but Veronica silences him. 

“Now that we’re over, there is no reason for you to be sucking up to him anymore. And I know Betty and Jughead are worried, so if not for me, do it for them.” 

“I can’t just walk away! Ronnie, your dad…” Archie bellows back, fear evident in his eyes. 

“You have to,” Veronica states, linking their hands together for a second. “You have to find a way. It’s over, Archie.” 

She drops his arms in one quick, careless move and looks at the redhead one last time, thoughtful. 

“And don’t call me Ronnie anymore,” she says before walking away and leaving behind a dumb-founded Archie standing shocked-still in Cheryl’s summery garden. 

The whole scene feels almost _too_ effortless. 

As soon as he’s out of eyesight, Veronica’s pace quickens. In the end, she staggers back to the house, running frantically. She sincerely hopes he follows through with her ‘advice’. She has an inkling that things might take a rather ugly turn. Her parents… 

An unpleasant thought hits Veronica. One of many in recent days, really. She thinks of _why_ her and Archie were together for so long. Maybe she was terrified of what her dad might do if… No. _No_. Veronica shakes her head violently, wrenching open the heavy door to the house. It’s way too early for introspection. 

She steps into the house, more than slightly out of breath. 

“Veronica, is that you?” Cheryl’s voice shouts from upstairs. 

“Yeah!” she yells back, straightening the pearls around her neck. They had gotten twisted during her run here. She can hear the faint clicking of heels as her friend appears on the stairwell. 

“Are you okay, V?” she asks, lips pursed. “You left awfully early.”

Veronica looks up at her weakly, her breathing still uneven. 

“Totally fine. I just went out for a morning stroll. It’s breath-taking out there. You’ve done wonders with the garden, babe.” 

Cheryl opens her mouth to retort but something stops her. 

“Well then,” she declares, beckoning a hand out for Veronica, her sharp eyes never leaving the girl’s face. “What are you waiting for? Come upstairs, so we can get started on evening manicure!” 

Veronica exhales before mustering up a faint smile. 

“Don’t worry. A proper manicure is just what I need.” 

 

___ 

 

 

“I just don’t understand,” Toni says irritatedly, throwing another dart straight at the bulls-eye on a humungous darts-board that has been pinned to the wall in the corner of the Wyrm. Jughead leans his back against the pool table and chuckles. 

“What is there to understand, Tone? I just don’t feel like it.” 

Toni and Sweet Pea exchange glances behind his back. 

“That’s bullshit,” Sweet Pea finally pipes up. “You’re talking shit again, bro.” 

Jughead’s palms dig into the polished wood. 

“Please,” he says. “Why would I wanna go to some stupid high school prom, anyway? I had enough of “Carrie” last year.” 

“Forsythe,” Toni snaps as Sweet Pea looks at him grimly. “Stop fucking around.” 

“What is it with this prom?” Jughead raises up his hands. “Like, why is it even important?” 

Sweet Pea nudges him in the ribs while Toni continues throwing darts, each one flying through the air more viciously than the one before. 

Jughead pulls out a packet of Camels from his jacket pocket as his eyes survey the room. The Wyrm is quiet in the early afternoon glow. They’re the only Serpents in here, except maybe for a couple of middle-aged gang members huddled up in the far left corner, smoking crack near the old-timely unkempt fireplace. The unemployed snakes come here often since the bar is a great place to dull the hopelessness of one’s existence. What a sight to behold. 

Sweet Pea is the first one to break the silence. 

“I can’t believe it’s been almost two years since you’ve joined the Serpents, man, and you’re _still_ such a fucking downer.” 

“How am I a downer exactly? I never forbade you to go to fucking prom, Elvis.”

“Enough with the idiotic nicknames, please,” Toni sighs, throwing her last dart at the wall. “And yeah… you’re coming, Jug. It’s non-negotiable.” 

Jughead shakes his head, getting up from the pool table. His hands are balled into fists and he feels that annoying tick in his jaw roaring up again, he is done with this stupid high school bullshit. 

“How can you — “ 

“Because, Jughead!” Toni groans, interrupting him. “I am sick and tired of your pointless whining. This is our last proper night together before you fuck off to New York and I want to celebrate it.” 

“Plus,” Sweet Pea drawls, “you gotta stop wallowing about the Lodges.” 

Jughead’s eyes narrow. 

“I’m _not_ wallowing about the… _wait…_ how do you know about New York, exactly?” 

Toni shakes her head, managing to look both ashamed and unapologetic at the same time. 

“FP told my grandpa about your writing scholarship.” She pauses. “Thanks for telling us, by the way.” 

Jughead shifts, his face heating up a little. 

“I was going to tell you, guys,“ he mutters. 

“Look,” Sweet Pea speaks up, patting the other boy on the shoulder. “I say, there’s no hard feelings.” His lips widen in a smirk. “If…you go to prom with us.” 

“I agree,” Toni states. 

“I… _okay_.”

“Great,” Toni quips. 

“Yeah, cause we already got you a tux, bro,” Sweet Pea nods along, his lips twitching up at the corners. 

Jughead frowns and does a double-take, scrutinising their laid-back behaviour. _Something’s_ clearly _off here_. The Toni and Sweet Pea that he knows wouldn’t have given in that easily. Unless…

“You really deserve your name, snakes!” Jughead scoffs, elbowing Sweet Pea in the stomach. “When did you have time to construct this corrupt scheme?” 

Toni lets out a loud, infectious laugh. 

“Took you long enough, Forsythe Pendleton III.” 

“Ugh, stop calling me that,” Jug groans. “It’s what Veronica and my dad call me.” 

Sweet Pea’s snigger is unmistakable. 

“Veronica, huh?” 

Jughead furrows his brows, ready to spew out another ironic remark before his eyes clear and his mouth drops open in vexation. 

“Oh, come on!” 

“I’m just saying, man,” Sweet Pea chuckles, clearly pleased with his mate’s reaction. 

“You really do seem _quite_ bothered about her,” Toni grins, eager to join in on the fun. 

Jughead stares at the two of them for a moment, dumb-founded, before he  shrugs and rolls his eyes so hard he’s almost whisked away back in time. 

“You guys are ridiculous,” he tells them curtly, indignation evident in his voice. “You’d have more credibility if you were predicting the beginning of the Third World War to fall on a Tuesday than insinuating that _I_ am _obsessed_ with Veronica ‘my bank account has more digits than your phone number’ Lodge. I mean, honestly, guys? The Park Avenue princess?” 

“For God’s sake, man, relax,” Sweet Pea bellows, thoroughly amused by Jughead’s monologue. “No one is _insinuating_   a n y t h i n g.” 

“Yeah,” Toni deadpans, “just chill out, bro, and let’s get ready for prom!” 

“Oh, right. _Prom_ ,” Jughead says, a sardonic smile appearing on his lips. “AI bet it’ll be a night we’ll _never_ ever forget.” 

“That’s kinda the point!” 

Toni beams at him and Jughead finds himself reluctantly smiling along. It looks like even his never-ending sarcasm won’t save him this time. Well. _You can’t compete with Antoinette, after all._

(Privately, he’s sure that this night is going to be the fucking worst. Definitely something worthy of a Stephen King novel.) 

 

___ 

 

 

The lights are glimmering in the school gym, hitting the floor in rays of crimson, lavender and deep purple. Confetti is dangling down from the ceiling and everyone’s dancing and messing around as the teachers attempt to make themselves heard over the chaos. A lot of the guests seem to be a bit more buzzed than usual. Veronica sure is. And some people are certainly having the time of their lives. Reggie’s spinning Betty around in the middle of the gym as some of the blonde’s hair falls loose and her eyes fill with tears. Tears brought on by uncontrollable laughter this time. Josie, Valerie and Melody are busy performing their ninth song of the evening before Chuck hops on the stage and pulls Josie away from the microphone, hoisting her on his back. The Vixen squeals in protest but lets herself be carried off the stage, anyhow. Kevin and Fangs are slow-dancing together without a care in the world. Well, “More Than a Feeling” is the perfect song for that, Veronica concedes, but their stares are too excessively saccharine for her to digest.  

Her midnight blue dress shimmies against her legs as she twirls around with Cheryl, breathing in the atmosphere. Veronica’s body is entranced, ready to throw down, but her mind is humming. She has some very specific questions. 

 _Mainly, what is she fucking doing here_? 

“Right, that’s my queue,” Cheryl shrieks after a while, motioning towards Toni, who’s appeared on the edge of the dance floor. She wipes away the sweat from her forehead, kissing Veronica goodbye on the cheek. 

“There’s lipstick on my cheek now, isn’t there, _Cheryl_?” Veronica hiccups, suppressing a giggle. 

The redhead nods, her eyes full of mischief, and wipes away the large scarlet lip print that’s left behind from the kiss. 

“Sorry about that, Snow White,” Cheryl laughs, letting go of Veronica’s shoulders. “But I just, I gotta — ” 

“It’s okay,” Veronica replies, her eyes finding Toni as well. “I think I’m going back outside now, anyway. I need some air.” 

Cheryl’s expression clouds over with worry. She clears her throat. 

“Listen. I don’t normally do this, but…” Cheryl grabs the other girl’s hand and squeezes it lightly. “Call me when you feel bad and _I will_ come and find you.” 

Veronica chooses to hug the redhead instead, chuckling softly.

“I can’t believe Cheryl Bombshell just said that to me.” 

“Well,” Cheryl smirks at her, letting go of the embrace. “This will be the last time you ever hear the offer, smoke-show.” 

“Go to your girlfriend, babe,” Veronica replies. 

They share a final conspiratory smile and then Cheryl’s off. 

Veronica feels like a block of stones has been lifted from her chest but the feeling’s momentary. 

She makes her way to the punch table, smiling to herself and soon notices Fangs and Sweet Pea nearby, the boys’ attention fixed on the make-believe stage in front of the Drinks Committee. Veronica’s half-way over there, adamant to say hi, before her eyes catch on all the ecstatic, shimmering, _smug_ faces in the room, and the weight returns, pressing down on her ribcage. 

So many goddamn familiar faces. 

She feels their heavy gazes on her body, tearing into her without remorse, inch by despicable inch. Veronica stills her movements. 

 _Thank God her mother hadn’t volunteered for the refreshment committee at least_ , she thinks, seeing Mrs. Muggs manning tables not far from her, giving her the side-eye. 

Veronica shakes her shoulders, shuddering. _What the fuck’s wrong with her?_ She feels acid flooding up her throat and flees. 

 

 

___ 

 

 

Jughead lasts exactly seventeen minutes in the dispiriting atmosphere of the school gym before he exits the scene. 

In the end, he had listened to Toni’s “orders” and came to the dance but as soon as Toni grins and waltzes off with Cheryl, Jughead’s patience wanes. 

He leans against the wall right next to the parent’s committee, hearing the soft beat of some lovesick ballade flood through the speakers. As if by accident, his eyes fixate on Betty, chatting with Reggie in the midst of all the chaos, his hands across her lower back and a mischievous glint in her eyes. Jughead quickly alters his eyes, only noticing more of the same in the room around him. Seeing all these happy couples is borderline nauseating. 

Jughead fumbles around in his suit jacket pocket, looking for cigarettes. He is about to lit one when Alice Cooper marches towards him. 

“Jughead!” she shrieks. “You can’t smoke in here!” 

Yeah, Mrs. Cooper hasn’t been all too fond of him since he broke up with Betty. 

“Sorry, Mrs. C,” Jughead mutters and with that, the decision’s made. He glances around the gym. All his Serpent friends seem to be engaged in dancing and Archie’s nowhere to be seen. Jughead slithers out of the back door quietly. 

 

___ 

 

 

The night wind blows against her skin as Veronica paces around the school grounds, shivering. She slips her hands into her fur and draws the fabric closer, but it doesn’t help much. 

For a moment, she considers going back. This is ridiculous. She shouldn’t feel off-kilter about seeing Ethel’s mum at the school, it’s been a _year_ since _…_

Veronica crosses her arms over her chest and does a little twist, striding back towards the main entrance. 

Her hand’s already on the handle when the door suddenly bursts open. 

“Veronica?” Jughead whispers, his mouth slightly agape. 

“Surprised to see me?” the girl simpers before she has time to check herself. Jughead steps through the door and it falls shut behind them.

“Very,” he insists, holding out a packet of cigarettes. “Want one?” 

Veronica lifts an eyebrow. This whole situation feels a bit… foreign, being here with Jughead Jones of all people. It is prom night, though, she thinks, and decides not to say anything about it. 

“I… I don’t really smoke,” she replies instead. 

“Okay then,” Jughead nods, lighting up and flopping down on the school steps. Veronica studies him briefly, her gaze wandering between the door and him. Jughead doesn’t utter a word, blowing out smoke. Veronica hesitates before sitting down next to him. She reaches her hand out for the packet. 

“Mind if I…?” 

“Go ahead.” 

Veronica pulls a cigarette from its case and Jughead extends a hand to offer her a light. For a moment, he’s closer than he’s ever been before. Veronica feels uneasy. The glow of the lighter illuminates his face as she inhales. Veronica finds herself smiling, her face very close to his, and Jughead’s lips quiver as well. 

She quickly turns away, the rush of nicotine swaying her gently as she exhales. 

They stay quiet for a moment, the ends of their cigarettes shining like tiny embers in the distant glow of street lights. The faint sound of music, coming from the gym, is just barely audible. 

“So…” Veronica says, extinguishing her cigarette against the pitted stone stairs. 

“So…” Jughead echoes, following her movements. 

“Are they seriously playing ‘Don’t Dream It’s Over’ right now?” Veronica blurts out, inclining her head towards the gym. 

“It’s a good song,” Jughead shrugs, as if expecting the remark. 

“If it’s such a good song, why aren’t you back there dancing?” 

“I could ask you the same thing.” 

Their flippant replies are almost like a reflex at this point. Veronica finds herself fiddling with her pearls again. Her hand retreats when she notices Jughead’s gaze linger near her collarbone. Their eyes meet but quickly snap away from each other. Jughead clears his throat. 

“Toni dragged me here,” he mutters, looking ahead. “Then I saw Betty and Reggie waltzing around the dance-floor and Alice Cooper proceeded to lecture me about smoking inside.” 

He sighs, voice laced with unmistakable fatigue, before adding: 

“Plus, I couldn’t see Archie so…”

“Archie isn’t here?” Veronica says, not able to mask the tone of surprise in her voice. 

Jughead turns towards her ever so slightly, his eyes a little wide. 

“What do you mean? Didn’t you guys come here together?” 

“No, we didn’t.” 

This is the moment where she half-expects or half-wishes to be bombarded with questions but Jughead doesn’t say anything. Maybe that’s why she chooses to press forward. 

“We broke up actually,” she mutters. “Right before prom.” 

Jughead looks at her, and wait, are his lips twitching? 

“What?” Veronica snaps. 

“Nothing, nothing.” 

“Look.” Her pulse seems to be ticking up again. “I know that I’m re-enacting a fucking high school cliché here, but…” 

Jughead chuckles and Veronica elbows him in the ribs on instinct. His overdramatic yelp of pain reverberates in the air as Veronica throws her hands up in the air. 

“You could at least be sad for me or something, Capote-toadie!” 

“Believe me, there isa sadness deep inside my soul, it’s blistering with unsaid thoughts and pra — “ 

Their Chemistry teacher chooses that exact moment to walk past them. It’s probably her turn making the evening rounds around the school or something. In any case, the old bat stops for a second, hands folded over her cardigan, eyes lingering on their lit cigarettes before she shakes her head, giving them one last disapproving look before rushing back into the building. 

Jughead and Veronica stare at each other, hearing the door fall shut with a loud, condemning thud and the next second, they’re both laughing. Jughead’s clutching onto his stomach and Veronica’s eyes are glistening with unspilled tears, and to be  quite honest, Jughead isn’t a far cry from bawling himself. 

“Your speech was pretty Shakespearian, how dare you,” Veronica hiccups, grabbing onto his shoulder to keep herself from falling off the stairs. The zephyr flips like a switch. Jughead freezes and so does Veronica. 

She pulls away her hand quickly, a light hum of electricity taking ahold of her body. Veronica averts her eyes. She feels a bit… disturbed. _Why did she do that?_ When their gazes meet again, the underlying message is clear. Friendly physical contact is _not_ their thing. Veronica shifts away from him. 

“That was _quite_ theatrical,” Jughead muses after a beat, lighting another cigarette, and the remark earns a chuckle out of Veronica. 

“It wasn’t my intention to make fun of you, for the record,” he adds after a while. 

“You don’t need to apologise.” 

“Are you sure? I mean, I did just make fun of your break-up,” Jughead says but  the raven-haired girl cuts in with a vehement shake of her head. 

“Believe me, that break-up was a good thing.” 

Veronica fidgets with her pearls. She wants to bite her tongue so bad, it’s not like her to confess anything to him and yet. There has to be something about this  particular night that makes her want to tell him, a small excuse. 

“Jughead,” Veronica says quietly. “Would you believe me if I told you that I broke up with Archie because he reminded me too much of my dad?” 

“Why wouldn’t I believe you?” he asks, dead-beat. “I mean, I get that.” 

Veronica’s breath gets trapped in her lungs. His words are the worst kind of confirmation. She had expected him to say something, something sardonic maybe but… not this. She can feel Jughead’s curious gaze on her and she needs to say something…to explain…Cause what the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck. She shivers. 

“Veronica,” Jughead says, interrupting her spiralling. “It’s okay to be a little fucked up.” 

The girl’s eyes snap up into his. She’s shaking her head. 

“I…I… having these issues with my dad… is not…it’s not okay.” 

Jughead almost reaches out to clasp her tiny hand into his, almost. Instead, he places his hand on his knee instead, the fingers curling into a fist. 

“Sure it is,” he states, matter-of-fact. “I mean, I have more parental issues than Oedipus himself but, you just kinda have to…overcome them. Or… I don’t know, try to be a better person in spite of all the bullshit?” 

 _Try to be better than your dad._  

Veronica smiles ruefully. 

“You sound like Cheryl.” 

“Cheryl?!” 

Jughead’s incredulity is almost entertaining. 

“Yeah, Cheryl,” Veronica rolls her eyes. “She said the same thing…the “we are not our parents” rap…I mean…” 

She hesitates. 

“That’s about the gist of it, right?” 

Jughead looks at her. 

“We don’t have to talk about this now,” he says. His voice is a soft inaudible murmur, barely decipherable over the wind. 

“Do you think that we’re like our parents?” Veronica blurts out, ignoring the silent plea. 

“No,” Jughead replies instantly, his neck stiffening, but Veronica remains unconvinced. 

“ _Really?_ ” 

“Lodge,” Jughead sighs. “We’re far better people.” 

It rings false as soon as it’s out there. Because they’re not far better than their parents. Maybe they’re not better at all. Jughead’s eyes land on her face, which seems to be saying: _yes, Jug, but we have done bad things, too. Like mutilating an ex-Serpent’s hand or covering up for two criminal masterminds for almost your entire life._ Jughead rubs a hand over his face. 

“Maybe…” he says, looking for the right words. “Maybe we’re not always better. But we sure as hell are _trying._ ” 

The smallest of smiles appears on Veronica’s lips at that. She thinks that for a night like this, scratch that, for a time like this, _trying_ would have to be good enough. She raises an eyebrow at Jughead. 

“That was pretty wise, Capote. Maybe you will make it as a writer after all.” 

Jughead blinks, a small grin playing on his lips. It’s like he almost can’t quite believe her sometimes. 

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Corleone.”

A silence befalls them but it’s an oddly comfortable one. Jughead considers telling her about the NYU scholarship for a quarter of a second but decides better of it. Instead, he lights yet another cigarette, offering one to Veronica as well. 

“No, thanks,” she chuckles. “I…I think I’m going to head back inside. This night’s been peculiar enough.” She slowly rises to her feet. 

“Aww, you think it’s been peculiar to sit here with little ol’ me?” Jughead puts a hand over his heart and looks up at her standing form. 

Veronica smirks before the corners of her lips fall. 

“Thanks for tonight, Jughead,” she says quietly. 

“Anytime.” 

He watches her dress waft behind her as she runs up the stairs and back into the madness. Jughead smiles to himself before getting up as well. This has been, without a doubt, the most bizarre night of his high school years. Forget drug smuggling, sleuthing and being taken in by the police, this, sitting on the steps of Riverdale High and having a deep conversation with Veronica Lodge, on prom night, nonetheless, would take the cake anytime.

 

 

_(10)_

 

 

**_F.P. JONES ARRESTED BY RIVERDALE PD!_ **

**_SABOTAGE HINTED IN SHOCKING STATEMENT!_ **

 

 

 **ONE DOWN, ONE MORE TO GO** : FP JONES FACES JAIL-TIME. 

PENNY PEABODY STILL AT LARGE 

 

 

_HUNT FOR RIVERDALE’S CRUELLEST FINALLY OVER!_

_READ MORE ON PAGE 4._

 

 

___ 

 

 

Jughead Jones stares at the newspaper headlines before tossing them into the trash and resuming packing. He drops his small literary collection, mainly composed of Faulkner, Capote, Camus and Vonnegut into his suitcase with trembling hands. The flannels and his jeans go on the top of the pile. 

He finishes tidying up late in the afternoon. His leather jacket is the final item he packs. Jughead looks at it long and hard before finally tossing it into the “yes” pile as well. Sweat dripping down from his forehead, he heaves his luggage outside soon after. Who would’ve thought that so much stuff could fit into such a small trailer. The boot of his dad’s ancient Dodge Charger is already open. This magnificent old devil is really all they have left from a time when business was a-boomin’. It’s a miracle that the feds haven’t confiscated it yet. 

Jughead is lifting one last bag into the boot when he hears a loud roar of a motorcycle nearby. Soon enough, not one but three pull up to his driveway. 

“I can’t believe you were going to leave without saying goodbye, you dipshit,” Toni pipes up from behind the others, hitting the brakes and rushing towards him. She engulfs Jughead in a bear hug before hitting him against the shoulder. 

“Ow!” 

“Jug, we were losing our shit here!” 

Sweet Pea, Fangs and Cheryl dismount from their bikes as well. Jughead does a double-take and his eyes land on Sweet Pea once more, helping a struggling Veronica off his motorcycle. He blinks, staring at her over Toni’s shoulder. It hits him a moment later that she’s wearing SP's denim jacket. 

“Hi, Jughead,” she says, keeping behind Sweet Pea and Fangs as the Serpents make their way towards him. 

Jughead feels like he’s been hit over the head with an iron fist. Toni finally lets go of him and Veronica steps closer, passing the others, her hands folded across her middle. They face each other as the rest of the gang grows quiet. 

“I just…I came along because I want you to know that even though I don’t believe it was my dad who got yours behind bars I…,” the words fall too fast from Veronica’s mouth and she catches a breath, “if it really was _him_ , I was… _am_ completely in the dark about it.” 

Jughead doesn’t say anything but Cheryl squeezes the raven-haired girl’s shoulder, stepping behind her. 

“I…” Jughead sighs. “Guys, what are you all doing here?” 

“Do you want me to go?” Veronica whispers. 

Jughead looks at his friends. He’s so tired. And what is he supposed to say?  They came to see him and he’s not gonna… he can’t push _all of them_ away. And Veronica? Veronica has that _same_ look in her eyes again, as if she’s waiting for someone to strike her down. He fucking hates that look and he doesn’t…he needs to get ahold of his emotions.

“No, it’s all right,” he settles on finally, and somehow, manages a small smile. He’s so tired. “I…I’m glad you all came.” 

He has no idea if it sounds hollow or not but Sweet Pea and Fangs enliven at the statement and Toni sniffs, holding back the tears as Cheryl rolls her eyes, shielding her girl behind her lithe form. Out of all of them, perhaps she is the most unexpected person to show up, despite being Tone’s girlfriend. Veronica meets his eyes for a moment and he can swear he sees her mouth move, whispering  “ _thank you_ ” before she turns towards the others again. 

He doesn’t deserve these people in his life. He really fucking doesn’t. 

 

___ 

 

 

The arrest happens two days after prom and Jughead misses graduation the following week. His dad’s attorney draws up some paperwork for selling the trailer. Betty and Archie keep leaving flabbergasted, slightly weepy messages on his phone, their voices sounding as if they’re both dancing on tenterhooks. 

Toni, Sweet Pea and Fangs stop by the house every now and then, even if it’s clear Jughead is no longer there. He talks to Pop Tate and be it a blessing in disguise or just a small silver lining but Jughead somehow manages to score the back-room at Pop’s as his sleeping quarters for the next month or so. 

Veronica leaves him exactly 16 voice messages, something she has never done before. 

On some nights, he sneaks up to the old trailer and takes a ride on his dad’s motorbike, driving aimlessly around the South Side at three in the morning with his beanie fluttering in the rough wind and a bottle of cheap spirits tucked inside the saddle box. He swerves the bike to the right around some empty street in Greendale, hides it behind a few bushes and gulps down the first swig of vodka. After that, he  wanders around in the dark cold streets of Greendale, black-out drunk. 

It’s a sinister place, Greendale. It’s silent in the dead of the night, yet Jughead hears old trucks screeching by sometimes, the drivers always, _always_ slowing their pace as they pass him him and once, he thinks he can hear gunshots being fired somewhere. 

But alcohol has dulled out any instincts of self-preservation he might’ve left, so Jughead keeps exploring. He vomits in the middle of the street once, twice, three times and falls asleep during the rides home, almost causing a fatal crash one Saturday morning, when he slips to an alcohol-induced delirium and skids to the other side of the road half-asleep, almost colliding head-first into an advancing Jeep. He is saved by the deafening roar of the other driver’s honking, avoiding certain death by a few inches, give and take. 

Jughead abandons the motorcycle after that, but keeps the warm embrace of alcohol nearby. 

On more lucid days, he has an urge to delete every single one of Veronica’s messages but he also thinks that might be a tad bit dramatic. 

 

___ 

 

 

They all end up having drinks at the White Wyrm later that night after an improvised picnic on the front porch of his dad’s trailer. Jughead’s not entirely sure he’s happy with this farewell party but even he isn’t as shitty to not know he owes his friends at least that.  

He drives to the Wyrm in his Dodge, while the others follow on bikes. _One last drink and I’m gonna get the fuck out of this nowhere town_ , Jughead thinks, but his mind is unhinged. It wanders. 

 

___ 

 

 

Betty and Archie corner him outside of the Blue & Gold, one day before graduation. 

“Juggie! Juggie!” Betty gulps for air, as she rushes towards him, Archie in tow. 

“I don’t wanna talk about it,” he snaps, unintended malice on his tongue. He continues clearing up his desk. 

“But Juggie! We were so worried, we want to help!” 

Betty has tears in her eyes now and Jughead watches as Archie places a careful arm around her shoulders.  

“I don’t need your help, Betts.” 

“We need you, Jug,” Archie insists. “And you do need our help.” 

“I know how I can get your dad out of prison, if you could just listen to my plan, I swear…” Betty hiccups through the tears. 

“Yeah, man, her idea is like…really good.” 

Jughead picks up his messenger bag, shoving the last of his old articles in it. His gaze lands on their distraught faces. He knows he’s lashing out and yet…it’s like he can’t stop. As if he doesn’t really want to. 

“Just let me marinate in my own mess, please,” he sighs, looking at them pointedly. “Don’t try to…just…just let me be.” 

“But…” 

“Jughead, please!” 

His neck twitches and his throat burns as he pretends to not hear any of it, trudging towards the office door instead, fleeing. Betty’s voice stops him for a second, ringing in his ears: 

“Will you at least come to graduation?” 

It dawns on him in a sickening slow-motion. The graduation. He hadn’t even realised _that_ was happening tomorrow. The most important day in their high school lives… finally upon them. Hip-hip-hooray! _Just goes to show how fucked up he’s been lately_ , he muses, turning his head slightly to look back at her. 

“I don’t know,” he replies. 

It’s an honest answer. 

 

___ 

 

 

Jughead tries his best not to look too off-kilter as they sit down at their usual table near the bar. His eyes focus on Cheryl who is eyeing up the waiters, her brow furrowed. 

“Are you sure that the staff here is…qualified?” the redhead eventually asks her girlfriend, motioning towards the two tattoo-clad Serpents sporting crew cuts. 

“Cheryl,” Toni laughs and leans in to kiss her, earning an eye roll from Jughead. 

“They were like this during the whole of graduation as well,” Veronica whispers next to him. He looks at her, mouth slightly agape. A mischievous smirk plays on Veronica’s lips. 

“Just thought you should know.” 

He shakes his head, turning towards the bartender. Jughead hates to admit that he’s still amused by her antics, sometimes. Even though, the shit with his dad… well, Veronica did say she had nothing to do with it. And _he_ doesn’t _care_ anymore. 

“Can I get twelve tequilas, please?” 

“Right away, man.” 

The barman starts pouring their shots and Sweet Pea nudges his arm, his face slightly alarmed. 

“Duude,” he says. “Didn’t you want to drive to NYC later?” 

Jughead smirks. 

“What I want, Sweet Pea, is to get fucked up.” 

“I’ll drink to that,” Fangs hollers behind them. 

“Sign me the f up,” Cheryl nods, reaching for her shot glass. Veronica and Toni look  a bit uncertain. 

“Tone,” Jughead says, smiling at his best friend tentatively. _I’m a fucking asshole_ , _I’m a fucking asshole_. “I know I can’t fix our friendship with one drink but…it’s a start…right?” 

“You’re such an idiot, Forsythe,” Toni shakes her head but lifts her shot glass up regardless. 

“What should we toast to?” Fangs asks. 

“To…” Veronica stops and her eyes shy away from the group for a second, meeting Jughead’s in a quick flash of understanding. He thinks he knows what she’s about to say before the words leave her lips. Veronica sits up a little straighter. 

“To not being our parents!” 

“Hell yeah!” Sweet Pea bellows. 

They all down their shots in unison. 

 

___ 

 

 

They dance until they’re breathless and drink until there’s nothing more to drink. The soft thump of the bass is exhilarating, filling the air with distilled madness. Okay, so, Jughead’s not dancing but he feels invigorated all the same. 

The alcohol has a potent effect on him but right now, he chooses to cherish this feeling. 

“Come on, dance with us!” Toni hollers after a couple of shots and Jughead finally lets her, Sweet Pea and Fangs drag him towards the sticky part of the bar floor. Someone must’ve spilled a lot of drinks down here for it to become so slippery. Cheryl and Veronica are spinning around together, separate from the group, Veronica practically falling down in the other’s arms as her heel hits a puddle. 

Jughead doesn’t know how to dance. The Serpents form a drunken circle and Jughead almost trips over his own foot _and giggles._ The speakers are blasting “Icky Thump” by The White Stripes, which prompts Cheryl and Veronica to snake inside the circle, twirling around the rest of them and throwing their legs up in the air. Soon enough, they all start jumping around in an uncoordinated circle. 

It goes on for a while before Jughead sobers up a bit and wriggles free from his friends’ embrace. He ends up slipping on the floor and winces as his tail bone collides with the cold tiles. _Okay, so maybe he has not sobered up in the slightest_. 

“Let’s go and have a smoke outside,” Sweet Pea suggests, after pulling him up. 

“I’ll join you,” Toni follows suit. 

Jughead hesitates before nodding and the three of them step out into the night. 

“Uhh, it’s fucking freezing out here.” 

Toni’s teeth are shattering even as she remains standing in the doorframe, her back still exposed to the warmth of the bar. The girl throws a quick look back inside. “Y’know, I bet we could sneak into Tall Boy’s office again?” 

SP laughs. 

“Right, we used to do that a lot last year.” 

“Yeah, right after that sucker got cast off,” Jughead simpers. 

“Those were fun times, man,” Sweet Pea says. 

Jug’s smile is rueful. 

“The best.” 

“Do you remember that time when Tall Boy wanted to axe —“ 

“Can we _please_ go?” Toni begs, cutting them off. “I am not joking about the cold, guys.” 

“Yeah.” 

Sweet Pea hoists himself up from the shaky three-legged chair that’s been standing abandoned in the Whyte Wyrm’s drive-in for since forever and the three of them slip back into the bar, climbing up the little stairwell leading to Tall Boy’s old office as quietly as possible. The whole dramatic ascent is completely unnecessary, though, because no one even notices that they’ve snuck back inside. 

 

___ 

 

 

“Toni, where the _fuck_ are you?!” 

Cheryl’s shrill voice cuts through the idyll like ice as the three musketeers stir from their sleep. A half-empty vodka bottle rolls to the floor with a clunk and Sweet Pea whimpers. Toni stifles a laugh.  

“Did you _sleep_ on that?” 

“I think that’s Cheryl’s voice,” Jughead murmurs, cracking the bones in his neck. 

They’re all lying under a dusty old tartan-print, probably moth-infested rug,  limbs meshed together, more or less. Toni starts feeling up the ground for her phone, knocking into both Jughead and Sweet Pea with her frantic hands. Sweet Pea lets out a guttural groan. 

“Jesus, Tone, _chill_.” 

“Shit!” 

Jughead topples over again at Toni’s harsh screech, covering his face with both hands. 

“Shit! Motherfucker! _Shit!_ ” 

“What is it, munchkin?” Sweet Pea opts for emphatic. 

“ _It’s 5.38 fucking a.m._!” 

Jughead leaps to his feet in an instant and almost hits his head against the ceiling fan. He rubs his temple, hands grabbing for something to hold on to. 

“Fuck!” he yelps, groans and drops back down to the ground, not finding anything to support his weight. 

“Cheryl! Cheryl, we’re in here!” Toni makes an admirable attempt at yelling except it comes out as a tiny, hoarse sound. 

“Keep it down, Antoinette!” Sweet Pea booms and flinches at the loud sound of his own voice. 

“When did we even stop drinking?” he asks instead.

“ _Not soon enough._ ” 

Jughead and Sweet Pea both snort. 

“Are you going to make it to NYC today?” Toni asks Jughead as she’s pulling her Serpent jacket back on.  

“Well,” Jughead’s still lying down in defeat. “If I stay here for a few hours and sober up by then, yeah. However… I’m already late for orientation day so it’s not looking mighty likely right now.” 

“Toni, I’m not fucking around anymore, where the fuck are you, this is not the time to be playing Veronica Mars!” Cheryl’s voice cleaves through the air again. 

“Hey, uh,” Sweet Pea looks towards Toni, a pained expression on his face. Jughead can’t be sure if it’s there because of the overkill amount of booze they consumed last night or Cheryl’s yelling. “You should probably…uh…tell Cheryl you’re okay.” 

_Cheryl it is._

“I’m on it!” Toni snaps, tying her Doc Martens laces together in record speed. She hops up, winces, but keeps going, turning back towards the boys for a moment. 

“Guys.” They can hear footsteps approaching. “We all know they’re gonna flip when we go back out there but…I wanted you to know…I…you really are my…you’re the gang, guys.” 

“You know it, Tone,” Sweet Pea replies with the biggest grin on his face. 

Jughead’s lips twitch up at the corners as he regards his two best friends. He contemplates with himself for a moment before groaning.

“It’s true, we are The Three Musketeers.” He pauses. “Three very hungover Musketeers but nonetheless…” That’s when Sweet Pea hits him over the head with his phone and Toni slips out the door. 

 

___ 

 

 

“There you are, ragamuffins!” Cheryl greets them as Sweet Pea and Jughead finally stumble downstairs. “We were _just_ leaving.” 

“Sorry, Cheryl,” they both mumble. 

Jughead’s bloodshot eyes wander around the room for a moment. It’s the crack of dawn but somehow, everyone else is still at the Wyrm. Fangs, Cheryl, Veronica. 

“Once again, I fucked up my own party, apparently,” Jughead muses, wincing as he moves closer. Maybe he should’ve just — 

“You didn’t fuck up anything, Jug,” Fangs says. 

“Yeah, don’t listen to Mary Poppins here.” Veronica’s shaking her head at Cheryl. “We were so fucking out of it before this one here started ringing the gong for Toni. Fangs almost tried to commit arson.” 

Cheryl sighs from the bottom of her soul. 

“Fine, it’s true.” She matches Veronica’s little glare with her fiery stare. “Judas here sold me out. Thanks for that, V.” 

“Uh…” Fangs clears his throat. “But we’re still gonna go now, Jug…uh… if you don’t mind?” 

“No problem, man. I gotta hit the road, anyway.” 

“Toni?” Cheryl asks. 

Toni nods, sending Jughead a knowing, slightly apologetic look. 

“I should —“ 

“Don’t worry about it.” 

Toni beams and rushes to hug him again. He shifts as he feels her crush his ribs into powdered bone matter. Sweet Pea joins the hug before seeking out Veronica over Jughead’s shoulder, a silent question in his eyes. She dips her chin in agreement, the motion almost imperceptible. SP frowns. 

“I’m gonna go, too,” Veronica says. 

Jughead startles a bit, disengaging himself from the hug as his gaze finally descends on her. 

“Uh…thanks for coming,” he mutters. 

He has to bite his tongue to not add an “I guess”. Veronica gives him a small smile and nods. 

“Take care, man.” Fangs hugs him as well before leading the way outside. It has started to drizzle. Jughead follows the gang to the dingy parking lot. The night sky is beginning to clear and the midnight tones are being replaced with rosy, muted soft pinks one by one. All the stars are gone. Suddenly, the smell of incense wafts through the air out of nowhere. 

“Is someone conducting witchy rituals around here?” Jughead overhears Cheryl muttering to her girlfriend. 

“Must be some edgy Northsider cult,” Toni whispers back in agreement. 

Jughead lits a cigarette, desperately trying to smooth out the waves of nausea in his gut. Not that smoking’s ever helped with that before.

He doesn’t know if he’s imagining or not but the repetitive goodbyes do seem a bit awkward. _Fuck_ , the boy thinks, _I’m probably never going to see any of these people again, am I_? 

They all wish him good luck, then there’s the obligatory pat on the shoulder, which even Cheryl manages to partake in, (not Veronica, though) and then…then they’re gone. He watches them mount their bikes. Watches them disappear back into the ordinary, more than flesh and blood can stand Southsider kind of life and Jughead… 

Jughead walks back toward his dad’s car slowly. He sits on the hood of the Dodge and drags another cigarette out from its packet. Minutes pass away quietly before he hears it. 

The haphazard clicking of heels on the uneven asphalt ground, littered with rocks, and her cursing. 

“ _Veronica?_ ”  

He’s running through the puddles, skidding into a halt in front of her, right in the middle of the parking lot. The rain has intensified, pouring down their faces, their bodies. She tosses her wet ruined shoe away, then the other. The night glow hasn’t dissipated yet. Veronica stands in front of him barefoot, him towering over her. 

“What is it?” he asks, he had meant to _ask_ , but it comes out as more of a whisper. 

“I couldn’t — “ she gulps for air. She had been running, too. “I had to tell you… I… I know it… it was my dad who sent yours to prison. I don’t have…any proof but I had to tell you… I…” 

She seizes his upper arm on impulse, digging into the flesh with her lithe fingers. The shift around them is electrifying, his blood churns. The night whirls in and around itself as Jughead looks at her, tilting his head down towards her. He can sense the urgency behind her words, hell, he can fucking see it in the steely, stormy momentousness of her gaze. 

“I had to,” she whispers. 

His hand comes up, only to slide down against the knobs of her spine. He can feel her eyes searching his, looking for confirmation before her hand closes against his jaw like a vice and he etches forward, his face descending on hers in an agonising second of madness, the hand on his jaw is burning, blistering — 

_Hold the fuck up._

They both falter, flinching away from each other. Jughead clears his throat but the sirens in his head are still roaring. 

“It doesn’t matter,” he says quietly. 

“What?” Veronica retorts, a little too quickly, rubbing a hand against her pearl necklace. She’s a little too off-kilter to manage anything more…polite right now. 

“It doesn’t matter who is guilty and who is innocent,” Jughead says with sudden conviction. “It just doesn’t.” 

“ _Why not?_ ” 

“Because! I am driving to NYU tonight, well today, actually, and I’m leaving this… this shit with my dad, with the Blossoms, the Black Hood, _whatever…_   behind me. And all this…” his hand flares up in a dramatic, anguished motion, he doesn’t know what he’s saying, really, “…other drama too. I… _go home, Veronica._ ” 

Veronica’s lips have narrowed into a thin line. 

“Fine,” she says. “ _Fine._ ” 

“I didn’t mean —“ 

They glower at each other for a moment, eyes narrowed and their chins raised high. Eventually, Veronica’s facade breaks a bit, splinters of it falling away. 

“I didn’t mean it, either,” she sighs. She is still too close. “I…good luck in New York, Capote. I’m sure you’ll do great.” 

Veronica’s lips twist up in a faint smile. 

“You know, given your multiple existential crises and all…” 

Jughead rolls his eyes at her. 

“Yeah.” He pauses. “Uh…what are you going to do?” 

“I’m gonna stay in Riverdale,”  Veronica says without missing a beat. “Help daddy.” 

“But you just said — “ 

He can’t help the bit of indignation that floods into his voice but Veronica stares him down, hands folded over her chest before mustering up her best running-for-office smile.

“It’s what I do best after all.” 

Jughead has the sudden urge to break something but he doesn’t understand _why._ Instead, he just stares at her. 

“So, I guess this is goodbye,” he mutters. 

“Yeah.” Veronica gives a little shake of her head. “I…I should get back to Sweet Pea. He’s probably drenched by now.” 

Jughead’s lips curl. 

“Mhm.” 

Veronica hesitates, fidgeting with the zipper of her, well, Sweet Pea’s, denim jacket, actually. The wind’s ruffling her hair in every direction. 

“Goodbye then,” she says. 

“Goodbye.” 

She turns her back on him, and flounces back towards the edge of the parking lot. Jughead’s gaze lands on her feet and he stifles a laugh. Veronica’s still walking on her tiptoes even though she’s barefoot. 

“Hey,” he calls after her without thinking of what he’s going to say. “If you ever change your mind about your da — Riverdale…” 

She looks back at him, tilting her head to the left. Like she knows _exactly_ what he had wanted to say. 

“Maybe, Capote.”

“I’ll miss you, Corleone,” he yells at her retreating back on impulse, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Then again, _maybe_ not.” 

“Ugh, same here, Salinger!” 

Her hand rises up in the distance and for a moment, it looks like Veronica’s going to wave goodbye. But then her fingers curl, transforming into an obscene hand gesture. Jughead smothers a smile. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. in the wind and the rain now, darling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so it's 6.30 am here but this took me 5 months to visit so bear with me! Thank God for Jeronica week for finally giving me enough motivation to get this chapter out! Before you all dive in, I'd like to clarify a couple of things: 
> 
> 1) This chapter was originally supposed to be in 10 parts but it all got too much so I split it. Anyway, due to me splitting it, this one has all of the build-up and none of the resolve but I hope it's not too much of a problem. 
> 
> 2) Nothing that happened in Riverdale after 2x17 is canon here. N O T H I N G. None of that Black Hood bs or Midge dying. The similarities are that Hiram is being evil and Cheryl escaped from under her mother's thumb but that's about it. 
> 
> 3) Also: Jughead and Veronica never kissed in 2x14 in this version! 
> 
> 4) Also: also: It's been 3 years, the year is 2016 and they're in New York now! Anyway, that's about it! I really hope you like it!

II

 

_New York during fall_

_(Autumn in New York)_

 

 

 

 

**HIRAM LODGE DODGES BULLET!**

**THE MAFFIA BOSS FACING PRISON TIME AGAIN**

 

 

_THE END OF THE LODGE DYNASTY?_

_READ MORE ON PAGE 8_

 

 

_THE BAFFLING UNDERSIDE OF RIVERDALE: FROM VICIOUS GANG LEADER TO SLICK MAFFIA BOSS_

 

 

**THE RIVERDALE CRIME BOSS BETRAYED BY INSIDE SOURCE**

 

 

_HERMIONE LODGE FLEES THE STATES_

_THE LODGE HEIRESS REFUSES TO COMMENT ON FAMILY’S DEMISE_

 

 

**THE REMAINS OF THE LODGE EMPIRE: WHO GETS WHAT?***

 

 

**___**

 

 

_*Collector’s Note: Above-mentioned selected headlines are collected from The New York Public Library’s extensive archives and cover the period from 15. October 2015 to 08. December of the same year. From top to bottom:_

 

_(1) 15. October 2015: The Hiram story breaks. Published by The New York Times._

_(2) 28. November 2015: The Extensive Analysis of the Lodge Family hits the shelves. Published by The New Yorker._

_(3) 19. October 2015: The Story of a Small-Town Boy Who Made It Big in Hollywood. An upcoming journalist Betty Cooper publishes a report, recounting the stories of past and present criminals in Riverdale. Published by the Riverdale Register._

_(4) 22. November 2015 The Investigation Update. Two Washington newspapers uncover a crucial piece of evidence against Hermione Lodge. Co-published by the journalists of The Washington Post and The Washington Herald._

_(5) 3. December 2015: Hermione Lodge is spotted at Heathrow Airport. Published by The Guardian._

_(6) 8. December 2015: The Wall Street Journal puts the final nail in the coffin. A 7-page long expos_ _é_ _that may have destroyed the Lodge family reputation once and for all. Published by The Wall Street Journal. (The author of the story has decided to remain anonymous.)_

 

 

 

 

_(1)_

 

 

New York during fall is all about rusty leaves, dreams and broken promises.  It’s pacing around Central Park during afternoon classes and showing up to mediocre late night comedy shows, usually held at some shady bar, right after getting kicked out from a free wine tasting party at some posh art gallery. It’s rain pouring down your cheeks as you frantically run towards the 7th Avenue station to make your train.   It’s utter melancholy and jubilation melded together. And it’s also the hipsters ordering pumpkin spice lattes at Starbucks and spoiled children getting ready for Halloween, _of course._

Jughead Jones stares out of the window of his cramped studio apartment overlooking Prospect Park. After a while his head falls back against the couch cushions and he absent-mindedly types out a few more words. He needs to hand in this history paper by Monday and he’s got like, the boy glances at the almost empty Word document, a quarter of an idea down, _maybe_.

He’s just about to click on the unfinished draft of his novel (the assignment can wait) when the apartment door rattles open with a loud clang and in storms Midge, grocery bags in hand. 

“Ugh,” she sighs, looking at Jughead, who is lying crumpled up on the couch, his head almost touching the computer screen. “You’re still here.” 

“I live here.” 

“Evidently, since you never leave the apartment.” 

Jughead grumbles something indecipherable in response and Midge starts unpacking the groceries, laying them down on their minuscule kitchen table with careful movements. Precise actions are of utmost importance here since the table looks like it’s about to fall to pieces any day now. 

Everything in their apartment kind of does, starting with the bockety little stairwell that leads up to the moldy attic filled to the brim with old newspaper clippings and ending with the slightly askew window frames. The place might have  been picturesque in the 1920s, when it was built, but now it just looks threadbare. Jughead loves every gnarled corner of their little apartment. His roommates? Not so much. 

Midge is chopping up bell peppers for a quick chicken and rice salad, she really needs to eat something before her seven o’clock shift at Veselka, when Jughead closes his computer and sighs. 

Her gaze follows him as Jughead digs out his coat from underneath all the garish knit cushions and shrugs it on. Midge narrows her eyes at him.  

Jughead just grins, offering up an explanation without any questions necessary. 

“There’s that MET exhibit I wanted to go to and I need a break from my paper.” 

“Have you even started writing it?” 

“Well…not really, _mother_.” 

They both chuckle. 

“Well, if you’re already going out,” Midge starts, “what about _staying out ’_ til like 2 o’clock?” 

Jughead furrows his brows. 

“ _Why_?”

Midge groans, snapping out of her reverie. 

“Because Jug,” she says. “I haven’t had the chance to fuck my boyfriend for like two weeks and I swear I’ll kick you out the fucking door the next time he has to stop licking my pussy because oh, I just realised you’re still home.” 

“Well, our beds are literally separated by a curtain…” 

“And Reggie is out of town because of his Wall Street internship thingy so can you please just —“ 

“Okay, _okay_ ,” Jughead laughs, his cheeks tinting pink ever so slightly. “You could’ve just said you don’t want me around cause you’re busy having sex with Moose.” 

“Would that have gotten you out of the apartment?” Midge replies, arching up a sceptical brow.  

Jughead rolls his eyes, turning his back to her and dropping down to the floor in order to retrieve the messenger bag under his bed. 

“So we’re cool? You’re staying out of our way?” Midge affirms. 

“Yes, I’ll take shelter in the New York Public Library during the night so you can have sex with Moose,” Jughead complains from under the bed and coughs his lungs out as a current of dust gusts towards his face. Finally, his fingers close around the strap of his bag. 

“You know, you _really_ should quit smoking, Jones,” Midge says after Jughead comes back up for clean air, brushing away the dust from his coat. He tilts his head towards her in disbelief. 

“ _Quit_? I can’t _quit_.” 

“Our apartment smells!” 

Jughead shakes his head, stepping towards the door, his keys jingling loudly in his hand as he moves. 

“Did _Reggie_ say that?” 

Midge’s lips curve up in that done-with-your-shit kind of smile. 

“Uh, and what if he did? Last time I checked you didn’t have to deal with his prissy voice messages sent from The Home Depot cash desk.” 

“The ones where he rants off the names of all the cleaning products our flat so desperately needs?” Jughead asks, turning the key in the lock. “Yeah, I get those.” 

“He is so extra!” 

“It’s not like we didn’t know that about him beforehand, though.” 

“Y’know, he probably thinks lounging around Bed Bath & Beyond is doing soul-searching!” 

“ _Probably_.” 

“Yeah, but like this one time, right? I got back from a crazy late night shift at Veselka and I think it was like…3 am, maybe? So I got into the apartment and collapsed on the bed and then… I hear squeaking — ” 

Jughead sniggers, turning halfway towards Midge again, one of his hands remaining on the door handle. 

“ — So, I just think to myself ‘oh-kaaay’, and then I switched on the bedside lamp of course and guess what? Reggie is up on a three-legged stool, cleaning our windows, humming along to Rihanna’s ‘Don’t Stop the Music’.” 

Jughead outright snorts. 

“That does sound like Reggie.” 

“Right?” 

They exchange knowing grins before Jughead sighs. 

“Ugh, okay… gotta run. The MET closes at nine.” 

“So, let me get this straight,” Midge drawls before he’s completely out the door. “It’s Friday evening and you don’t have work today, so you’re going to some lame art exhibit and later you will…” Midge pauses, the corners of her mouth twitching, “head to the library for the night?” 

Jughead’s countenance turns slightly smug in an instant. 

“Well, unlike some of us,” he says, reaching for the doorknob while his gaze pointedly sizes up Midge. “I don’t spend my labour-free Fridays getting shitfaced at  the Marquee.” 

“Okaaaay, Moral High Ground. But just fyi, this place is reserved for fucking until at least 2 am!” 

“Got it, Midge,” Jughead retorts, slamming the apartment door shut behind him. 

_Honestly, New York is depressing sometimes._

 

 

___

 

 

New York is not the place to be if you want to shut yourself off from the world. John Berger once said that every city has a sex and age. Well. If New York were a person, it would be a man in his mid-twenties. The kind of man who thinks he’s the most mesmerising creature on Earth and yet he is the kind of rare breed of hedonistic opportunism and genteel who manages to be both lecherous and riveting at the same time, and in that sense, makes himself impossible to shake off. You can’t ignore him, not quite, and you can never escape him. That’s New York. You can’t just stay locked up in your Tribeca loft and observe quietly as the event calendar changes every minute, every hour, and the world whirls by in a vivid film reel. Because eventually, the pandemonium of the metropolis will catch up to you and you will implode. 

Veronica knows all of that. My god, she knows. 

Even as she is walking down t5th Avenue, passing the St. Patrick’s Cathedral and the Central Park Zoo entrance, with her mind all over the place and her small ridicule pressed tightly against her ribcage, she thinks it was a good idea to come back here. 

 This part of the park is surprisingly deserted for a Friday evening. A lonely ice cream stand looks out of place in the midst of thick smoke clouds wafting over the city. Carnelian and tangerine flutter around in the powdery air before they eventually fall down to the ground, mixing with dirt and sludge. Meanwhile, the smell of frying grease mixed with a whiff of pop corn lingers in the wind, truly making it seem like Halloween is just around the corner. 

Veronica glances at her watch, picking up the pace. Cheryl’s personal cab driver had dropped her off near Rockefeller Center, (“ _You’re not going to take the metro, Veronica, not under my watch,” Cheryl had chimed earlier_ ) , so this is a compromise of sorts. Despite her best friends’ protests, Veronica had thought it a brilliant idea to walk from Midtown Manhattan straight through Central Park and end her leisurely stroll in front of the MET steps. 

What was she thinking? She has never just walked anywhere. Not before the… before the Times article. So now she’s running late, miserably late, but she can’t miss The Crime Stories exhibit yet again, they close _next Wednesday_. 

Well. Maybe she could hail a cab? Her meticulous savings plan would take a bullet to the knee and it would be terribly irresponsible of her but… Veronica bites her lip. She is really not supposed to… But it would be for a good cause, right? A cultural occasion. She has to get out of the park first, though. 

 

 

___ 

 

 

She makes it there on time, barely. There is just an hour left until the closing time when Veronica trudges up the Met steps, sliding past the stupendous stone pillars and the High Victorian Gothic archway, finally stopping by the information desk to pay for her ticket. 

It’s not like Veronica Lodge to scrunch in displeasure as she hands over the cash, but she can’t stop the pained expression that casts over her face. 12 dollars for the ticket plus the 20-something dollar cab fare she’d had to pay for earlier… Let’s just say that her savings plan is… not working out so great. 

 _At least this exhibit seems to be worth all the money she’s spent today_ , Veronica concedes, walking into the quaint Gilman gallery, a bijou hall meant just for showcasing various photographs. It’s one of Veronica’s favourite corners in all of the building and tonight, it looks nothing short of spectacular. 

Her eyes roam over the photographs, taking in the striking, unsettling artworks. An image of Patty Hearst holding a gun catches her attention. There is something chilling about it, even if the FBI-released photograph is a bit vague in detail. Veronica does not recall much about the Hearst case but she does remember reading a newspaper article about it once, a long time ago. The piece dared to ask the burning question that nowadays, no one even voiced anymore: if Patty hadn’t gone along with her kidnappers a little too easily. It hypothesised that they didn’t really have to persuade her into an armed robbery at all. She just went along with her captors’ wishes like a good lost little lamb she was. 

Of course, the article was nonsensical. Veronica is still certain that the people who had captured Hearst, she can’t remember the name of the organisation for the life of her, had done horrible, despicable things to Patty. Besides, Stockholm Syndrome is a very real psychological condition. _But what if…?_

She shudders and moves on to the next photograph, a portrait this time. “Louis. 28 ans. né a Turin. Anarchiste.”, reads the caption. She learns that it was taken by Alphonse Bertillon, the father of the modern mugshot, and her lips quirk up a little.  This is more like it. 

Veronica turns her head to the right, eyes glittering with appreciation as she regards all the other nineteenth century mugshots lined up on that wall, when something, _someone_ , catches her attention. 

It is the simple movements that first make her cautious. The hunched-over back, the nervous tap of a foot, a man leaning closer towards one of the pictures in Bertillon’s collection as if trying to scrutinise the very essence of it. 

She notes the messenger bag and the messy, black hair and her fingers twitch around her small ridicule. _He is not wearing his beanie._

Veronica considers fleeing, just for a moment. It would be easy, so easy, if he wasn’t standing a mere twenty feet away from her. He is far too close for her to pass unnoticed, far too — 

“ _Jug — Jughead?”_

She has stepped a few feet closer to him and spoken without much thought. He turns around quickly, and it is truly disconcerting to see him without his beanie, his most prized possession, that she has to avert her eyes for a second. 

“Veronica?” Jughead mutters and his wide-eyed stare follows the contours of her face absent-mindedly before he, too, turns his eyes away in quiet bewilderment. 

Veronica fidgets under his gaze and resists the urge to cover her throat with her  free hand. Her neck, where there are no pearls. 

Their faces might have not changed all too much during the three years since they last saw each other, but it seems a lot of other things have. 

“So…uh… you’re in New York now, Lodge?” Jughead finally speaks before the silence becomes tremendous and unconquerable. 

“I will have been here a year and four months on November 1st.” 

“ _A year?_ I thought you’d be with your mum in —“ 

He trails off, instinctively realising his faux pas and Veronica narrows her eyes. She can’t believe he has even attempted to bring up her family. 

“Did you really think I’d stay with my family after what happened?” she asks instead, her voice a degree colder than it was before. 

Jughead is visibly taken aback by her frosty demeanour. 

“Veronica, it was just an assumption — “ 

“An assumption? Really? So, you’re not filled with glee that my dad’s behind bars or what?” 

His brows flare in indignation. He scoffs, unable to stop himself: 

“Of course, this is about your dad.”

Veronica opens her mouth to retort, but Jughead doesn’t let up. 

“What was I supposed to say, exactly? Pretend like I didn’t know he’s in prison now? That I’m devastated he is? Tell me, please.” 

“Ha!” Veronica almost yells in triumph, unable to check herself. “So, here is where this polite act of yours ends.” 

“Mademoiselle, is there a problem here?” the voice of a security guard nearby breaks up their argument. 

Veronica is caught off-guard, whilst Jughead just shakes his head. 

“Already leaving.” 

He heaves his messenger bag more comfortably over his shoulder and starts walking away. His side brushes Veronica’s as he passes her. 

“Sorry about your dad,” he mumbles and then he’s gone. 

For a moment, she’s not sure she’s heard him right. Then, she’s pushing past the security guard and racing after him. 

Jughead thinks he hears someone’s heels clacking on the pavement just behind him, but he pays no mind to it until the clacking becomes unbearable. His eyes widen in surprise when he turns and sees Veronica striding towards him. He doesn’t have any more time to react before the Veronica Lodge has grabbed his hand and starts dragging him back towards the Gilman gallery entrance. 

“Wha —“ 

“Look, Forsythe,” she says, finally bringing the two of them to a halt by the  only corner in the brightly lit hallway. “I have been through a hell of a year, okay? So, if you came here and seeked me out for some cheap story about my family, you can just fuck off.“ 

Jughead grimaces, the look of concern on his face transforming into disbelief. 

“Who says I have been ‘seeking you out’?”

Veronica falters. 

“I…you asked about my family, though! And quite out of the blue as well!” 

“To say something conversational, not to get you to talk!” 

“So… how… wha… a-are you trying to say we ran into each other again in a city of millions _by accident_?” Veronica struggles with words, but her voice is almost mocking. “Don’t mistake me for a fool, Jones.” 

Jughead can’t help but look down at her in endearment, recognising the long-forgotten indignation in her voice. He leans closer, shaking his head.

“God, you’re still as impossible as ever.” 

His right hand brushes the wall above her left shoulder, almost grazing her neck and Veronica inhales sharply. 

“So, if not for the story with my dad… why are you here, Forsythe?” 

“The same reason as you are. This Crime & Punishment exhibition.” 

“It’s called Crime Stories: Photography and Foul Play, actually.“ 

“Yeah?” Jughead shrugs his shoulders, his lips quirking up. “How tragic.” 

Veronica chews the inside of her cheek, stealing a quick upwards glance at Jughead. 

“You didn’t answer my question.” 

“Ronnie,” he whispers and she wants to swallow down the breathlessness in her throat, waiting for a confession. 

“This is not an initiation into some intricate pyramid scheme to eventually get you to fess up about your dad or something. We just met by accident like two common New Yorkers, is that really so hard to believe?”  

A delicate smile plays on his lips and she finds herself relaxing her shoulders as she looks up into his grinning face, her own mouth softening. This countenance is so unlike him, and suddenly, she feels herself wanting to lean into him. She wants to wrap her tiny hands around his warm shoulders and absolve the both of them of her false accusations in a welcoming embrace. 

He takes a step back from her and she recoils, leaning further into the wall and watching as he scratches the back of his neck, his eyes fleeting towards the forgotten gallery entrance once more. 

“We uh… we should get back to the exhibit, huh?” 

Veronica’s lips twitch in spite of herself. 

“Do you think they’re going to let us in again?” 

He sighs. 

“You’re probably right. Guess I should…” 

“Oh.” Veronica nods. “Yeah…unless you want to…?” 

Jughead hesitates for a moment. There is no denying it, this bizarre encounter has rattled him down to the bone marrow. Veronica Lodge in New York. It’s a description that fits perfectly and yet it’s something he didn’t think he’d ever witness in real life. 

But she’s here now and… well, he’s not prepared to introduce her to his very own little (read: depressing) corner in the New York Public library. It’s also the end of the month and he really can’t swing any cash towards a fancy dinner, which is probably something Veronica would expect of him, judging by the brand new Valentino coat hanging off her back alone. So… 

“This week’s no good,” he says finally, a tiny hint of hesitation in his voice. 

“That’s okay,” she replies, just as coolly. “I mean, we’re both probably too messed up to hang out together, anyway. Guess it wasn’t — ” 

“Do you still have your old number?” he blurts out. 

Veronica’s eyes widen by a fracture. 

“I… yes?” 

“We should get together some time. Since we are… both in the city.” 

Jughead is astounded by his own casual tone as is Veronica. Her brow is furrowed deep in thought before the girl eventually speaks. 

“I would like that,” she says. “Acting like two mature adults could be fun for a change.” 

“So… I’ll text you next week?” 

“…” 

“Lodge?” 

“I said that would probably work, yes.” 

 

 

_(2)_

 

 

Of course, things are rarely that simple. For the next three weeks, Veronica does not hear so much as a peep from Jughead. No calls, no voice messages, not even a mere three-worded, very unlike Jughead text, nothing. She begins to entertain the possibility of meeting him at The Met being simply something conjured up by her own overactive imagination. 

Not that she has a lot of time to think about Jughead, mind you. It’s been a little over a year but there are still reporters camping outside of her and Cheryl’s apartment in Lower Manhattan, looking to get a picture of her in sweatpants or with a bruised eye, anything. Sometimes, she is afraid that their attempts to ostracise her will never stop. 

But Veronica gets back into her business nonetheless, she goes to dance classes four times a week, studies even harder, with cold determination, and hooks up with Ginger from Economics 101 a couple more times. It’s the morning after Halloween and they’ve just gotten out of bed when Ginger throws some off-hand comment her way, something along the lines of “you seem a bit distracted”. Veronica says nothing but the other girl’s words still manage to irk her. There is some truth in them after all.

Then, walking home from the red-brick La Maison Française campus on Washington Square in the drizzling November rain, she gets a text from Cheryl. 

_Need to speak with you_

_Pick up the phone_

_Hellooooo_

_Are you with Ginger again? Really, Veronica, I thought you had standards_

_Sorry x_

_Anyway, I made reservations for us at 20:30, Gramercy Tavern_

Cheryl’s been a bit distant lately, too busy with her law school applications and raising her GPA above everyone in the class of 2018, so Veronica’s surprised by the sudden outpour of texts from her. And Gramercy Tavern? Honestly, sometimes she wonders if Cheryl understands how close to being broke, _actually_ no-money-for-food-or-utilities broke, Veronica is. 

But it’s Cheryl, so how could she refuse? 

The raven-haired girl sighs and texts her back, resigning herself to another Tuesday night heart to heart. 

 

 

___ 

 

 

She is there at half past eight sharp, striding towards their usual table in the Dining Room part, right below the portrait of a man leaning on a cane. There is no inscription on it, no caption, but the painting looks familiar. After two years worth of visits, Veronica still has no idea about the artist of this work. The waiters refuse to tell her. 

Cheryl is already there, her form obscured by the plush velvet curtains. Veronica wouldn’t have even noticed her, if she didn’t know this was their table. That is the first sign. 

“Hi! How’ve you been?” she asks, approaching the table. 

“I… just peachy,” Cheryl murmurs, and Veronica makes note of the absent red lipstick and her friend’s red-rimmed eyes as she sits down. A second sign. 

“Cher, is everything okay?“  

Veronica doesn’t even have time to reach for the _a la carte_ menu before Cheryl whispers: 

“It’s… it’s Toni. She’s in New York.” 

“ _Que mierda_ ,” Veronica mutters under her breath, before she has time to check herself. 

Cheryl nods. 

“Yeah.” 

“But…what happened… did she call you?” 

“Mhm.” 

A stray tear rolls down her cheek and Cheryl raises her perfectly manicured hand, hastily wiping it away. 

“She…she said she made a mistake, staying in Riverdale,” the redhead speaks again, the words tumbling from her lips. “So now she wants to talk. It took me so long to put this horrible past year behind me and now…”  

She presses her lips together, her face contorted in pain. 

“Oh, Cheryl,” Veronica breathes, reaching out her hand and entwining their fingers together. “It’s gonna be okay.” 

Cheryl looks at her, eyes clouded over with quiet disbelief. Her stare is almost pitying. 

“Will it, V? Really, will it ever get better?” 

“Of course, it will!” Veronica states vehemently. “Who knows, maybe you will even get ba…” 

“We are _not_ getting back together.” 

“But… she is staying with us, isn’t she?” Veronica asks. She is trying to say it carefully but her voice is laced with hope. 

“No,” Cheryl scoffs. “She is staying with that wanker Jughead in Brooklyn.” 

“ _You must be joking._ ”

Cheryl shakes her head and Veronica draws back her hand on instinct, her fingers curling around the edge of the table. 

This is… check-mate. Somehow, Jughead is now part of her dinner conversation. Which… okay, it’s not the worst thing. But it is still completely unnecessary. 

Completely unnecessary. 

Her and Cheryl sit in their usual table in a strange absence of sound, both of them too disconcerted to speak. Veronica’s still clutching onto the table when their food’s served, her knuckles have turned white by now. They eat and the silence drags on. She jabs at her Montauk Triggerfish, picking out the cashews with her fork and discarding them on the edge of her plate. Cheryl’s barely touched her Chicken Cobb Salad. 

“Any particular reason she’d be staying with _Forsythe_? Are they even friends anymore?” Veronica muses eventually as it all gets to be too much. 

Cheryl shakes her head. 

“I don’t know, Ronnie.” 

 

 

___ 

 

 

In Brooklyn, Prospect Heights on the other side of town, Jughead’s similarly rattled about their encounter. 

And he wants to call her, he does, but something about Veronica’s countenance on that strange night some weeks ago had screamed ‘closed off emotionally’, ‘delicate’ and ‘do not touch’. 

And it was clear as day that her dad had really done a number on her with his arrest, which is something that’s not new to him, either. 

Except, FP is an insignificant low-life, so (at least) the paparazzi would never camp out in front of his building or terrorise him at his local gym. (Not that he exercises but yeah, Toni has told her some stuff.) 

He’s just about to ring her to catch up, three weeks late as it is, when Toni herself decides to visit New York on a whim. 

Yes, he had known about her and Cheryl’s dilemma but the two of them had called it quits over a year ago. Yes, Toni was and is always welcome in his home. Yes, she had hinted she might come to New York sooner rather than later, preferably in November. But he is still not prepared for her showing up at his apartment one day, bags in tow. 

He returns home late on that particular day, drained from work, when he hears Toni’s voice coming from behind their studio door while he’s digging out the keys from his coat pocket. 

“Toni?” he asks, letting himself in. 

Toni beams at him but there is still something forlorn about her. Something that makes him think about Cheryl and heartbreak and his best friend being left behind and being forced to grin and bear it in the hellhole that is Riverdale now, having only Sweet Pea for company.  

“Reggie let me in,” she says as a form of greeting and then runs to hug him.  Jughead squeezes her back tightly before disengaging himself and almost stuttering: 

“You uh… didn’t… didn’t think to call or —?” 

“Oh, I tried to,” Toni says quickly. “But it all happened so fast, so in the end, I just thought I’d surprise you.” 

She falls silent for a moment. 

“You don’t mind… do you?” 

“ _Of course not_. I am so relieved you’re okay.” 

“About what exactly, you idiot? It was just a nine-hour bus trip!” 

He laughs and reaches for her again. They hug once more before Reggie disrupts the peace, shouting from their kitchen behind the living room wall: 

“Come on, you losers, Midge is making fajitas!”

He and Toni look at each other knowingly, and make their way towards the kitchen. 

“By the way, Jughead, I think I need to congratulate you,” Midge grins as she lays a fajita on his plate when they’ve all sat down. 

“ _Why?_ ” 

“Because you’ve finally brought home someone interesting!” the girl giggles,  ruffling his hair in passing. That earns an inevitable eye-roll from Jughead. 

 

 

___ 

 

 

“So, is this about Cheryl?” Jughead asks much later on, when Reggie and Midge have taken off to the Marquee, and it’s just two of them in the apartment. 

Toni chuckles softly. 

“Am I that obvious?” 

“No, but your visit was that sudden.” 

“I want her back, Jughead,” Toni blurts out and his eyes widen by a fracture. “I should’ve never put my life on the Southside before Cheryl.” She exhales. “I fucked up.” 

“Come on, Tone,” Jughead protests now, reaching out a tentative hand and patting her on the shoulder. “I know how much the Serpents mean to you. You… you’re a Serpent for life.” 

Toni looks at him, a shadow of something bitter crossing her face. Then, she buries her face in her hands. 

“The Serpents are falling apart,” the girl whispers. “It’s all gone downhill since you left. Sweet Pea and I… we can’t really handle it.” 

Jughead swallows, hesitating. 

“I was never in the Serpents for the right reasons, though. I’m sure you’ll be — ” 

“Technically, you are still one of us.” 

Jughead’s stomach does an unpleasant twist. 

“You’re not asking me to come back… are you?” 

“No, I…” Toni clenches her tiny fists, forcing herself to deliver the final blow. “What I’m trying to say is… The Serpents are done, Jug. We broke up last month.” 

“ _Wha_ — “ 

“It’s okay, it’s okay!” The words tumble from her mouth in quick succession.  “It was a rather amicable split, actually. But I… I thought since… since there is no place for me in the Southside anymore, I could come and live…here.” 

Jughead’s mind is reeling from all these news. He closes his eyes for a brief second before asking in utter confusion:  

“You want to move to New York?” 

“I… yeah. Would that really be so bad?” 

“No. I… I’m not saying that. It’s just that…” Jughead can feel his cheeks heating up when the reality of the situation dawns on him. He almost feels bad bringing this up. 

“It’s just that… our apartment is rather small. But hey,” he adds quickly. “I’m sure we can figure something out.” 

“Jug,” Toni almost chuckles. “Don’t worry about it. I’m sure I’ll find something soon.” 

“Of course, you will.” 

They sit in silence for a minute. Jughead puts his arm around her and Toni’s rose-coloured locks fall on his shoulder. In just three weeks, his world has tilted upside down. Seeing Veronica again… Toni possibly moving to New York. It has stirred up some long-forgotten things, thoughts… feelings.

Jughead stares at Toni, a question forming on his lips. 

“What about Cheryl, though?” he asks eventually. “Do you think you can work things out with her?” 

She doesn’t reply to that. 

 

___ 

 

 

“Wait a second, darling,” Cheryl says, her lips open in askance. “ _The_ Jughead Jones?” 

Veronica snickers. 

“Do you know any other ones?” 

“And you didn’t think to tell me you ran into him at The Met?” 

“Why, you were busy being the HBIC at moot courts. I didn’t think you had time for nonsense,” Veronica retorts, her lips twitching. 

“Yes! But you two have…” Cheryl’s nose wrinkles, “… history.” 

“ _Piensa en lo que estàs diciendo_ … we do not!” 

Cheryl just rolls her eyes. 

“Sure.” She pauses, a mischievous glint in her eyes. 

Veronica narrows her eyes. 

“Why do you even care? Tonight’s about you.” 

“You’re right, ma cherié… But he will be there.” 

The raven-haired girl scoffs. 

“If I have to sit through an evening with Jughead, then so be it.” Veronica’s eyes falls to her friend’s busy form. “You just get ready.” 

They’re sitting on the bottle green velvet couch in their high-ceilinged, spacious living room and Cheryl’s adjusting the straps on her lush, golden Jason Wu dress. The satin garment floats around her and she is a dead ringer for regality in the hazy afternoon light flooding through the windows. They were supposed to leave the loft twenty minutes ago. 

Veronica’s lips twist, watching her. 

“Cheryl, we are going to the Barcade,” she says for the utmost time. 

“I haven’t seen Toni in a year, hon,” the other girl snaps. “I must dress for the occasion.” 

Her gaze glides over Veronica, who is wearing her usual dark blue Antonio Berardi pencil skirt and combo. 

“You should’ve dressed up more too, darling. I could — ” 

“Cheryl, you’re not loaning me any more of your mum’s lawsuit money,” Veronica demands in a stern voice, her shoulders going rigid. “You’ve done more than enough just by paying the rent!” 

Cheryl’s face morphs into something very gentle. 

“If you say so.”

Veronica gives her a small smile, her demeanour unbending just a bit. 

“Yes, I do.”

 

___ 

 

 

“You saw Veronica again?” Toni practically screams. “Oh my God! How did she look like, what did you two talk about?” 

Jughead leans the back of his head against the wall, sighing. 

“We just bumped into each other at The Met, there’s nothing to tell!” 

“Hey, what’s this about Veronica?” Reggie’s head props up from the couch. “Is she still available?” 

Jughead scoffs. 

“How would I know?” 

“Don’t you worry, Mantle, she’d never go out with you,” Midge teases, prancing from her bed to the bathroom. 

“Hey, I could get her to fuck me,” Reggie yells back, pointing an accusatory finger at Midge. “I could!” 

Toni shakes her head. 

“You nasty.” 

“Hey!” Reggie’s eyes look almost genuinely hurt. “I’m a catch, Topaz!” 

“I bet your mum thinks so too.” 

“HEEEEY!!!” 

Jughead wishes he could crawl a hole into the ground and just lie in it for a while. The cacophony is bad enough when it’s just him, Midge and Reggie in the flat, but add Toni to the mix and it’s outright pandemonium in this place. 

(Well, he’s happy they’re all getting along at least.) 

“Guys, guys,” he says after a while. “We’ve got to go.” 

“Oh, and the wet blanket history major emerges,” Midge yells behind the half-open bathroom, dragging a dress past her elbows. 

The three of them laugh. Jughead arches an unimpressed brow and turns to Toni. 

“Oh, I’m sorry? Do you want Cheryl to wait for you after you haven’t seen her for…oh…what’s that… _a year_?”

“You’re so insensitive, Jug, like damn,” Toni says, casually throwing a couch cushion at him. 

“Yeah, give the girl a break,” Reggie nods along sympathetically, his previous argument with Toni entirely forgotten. 

“Sorry, can you please just get ready,” Jughead groans. They ignore him. He buries his face back into the pillow and the three other hellions don’t stop messing about for a long while.

 

 

___ 

 

 

The Barcade is full of people that night. It’s a Stranger Things theme party. The bar seems to be only serving cocktails from the 80s, just like all of tonight’s arcade games seem to be long outdated. This is the type of scene that Veronica would most definitely avoid if she weren’t here to morally support her friend. And of course, there is a dress code. 

“Excuse me, miss, you can’t go in wearing…that,” the bouncer says, his stare trailing down from the golden straps to the hem of Cheryl’s dress. 

“Oh, really?” the redhead asks, stepping closer and waving a hundred dollar bill in front of his face. “I wasn’t aware.” 

“Uh, fine whatever,” the boy gulps, snatching it from Cheryl’s willing hand. He vacates the entrance. 

“Are you serious?” Veronica mutters behind her. “That was my _week’s_ food money.” 

“I need to see Toni,” her friend retorts, a line which she seems to have memorised tonight. 

They step into the boundless pit of the apocalyptic basement. The walls are plastered with life-size neon signs and old sports adverts from the 80s. “You Make My Dreams Come True” is blasting from the speakers and echoing back from the walls, giving the whole bar an alienesque appearance. The widescreen above their heads is showing the second episode of Stranger Things while several of the waitstaff heave around heavy trays filled with Long Island Iced Teas. All of them are wearing flannel. 

Veronica feels the beginnings of a headache brushing against her temples. 

“I don’t see Toni anywhere,” she shouts but Cheryl’s already gliding towards one of the booths right next to the bar. Veronica rushes after her and there they are: Midge, Reggie, Toni and Jughead, busy playing an ancient version of Pac-Man and quarrelling loudly. 

Toni’s head turns first. She spins around just at the right moment to see the two of them approaching and her eyes find Cheryl’s with precision, her movements going terribly still. The whole thing seems co-ordinated on an almost cinematic level, Veronica thinks.

“ _Cheryl_ ,” Toni breathes as they step closer.  “You made it.”

“Hello everyone,” the redhead gestures around with her hand. “While it’s certainly some kind of delight to see so many faces from my past, I must steal T.T. away from you now.” 

“Cher, I…” 

Cheryl doesn’t let her finish the sentence. She beckons with her finger and Toni steps forward, following her as if entranced. Midge and Jughead share an exasperated look behind their retreating backs and Veronica’s left behind in the midst of it all, doomed to the spend the evening with three people from her Riverdale past. 

As if by accident, his eyes land on Jughead’s profile. The boy’s standing apart from the rest of them and gazing at the bottom of his half-finished B52 cocktail. Veronica could swear he sees him grimace. 

Oh, this is going to be _awkward_. She’s not sure why, but she kind of wants to yell at Cheryl or Toni about their poor choices of romantic entanglements right the fuck now. 

 

 

___ 

 

 

It’s not even the end of the evening but she is already sitting alone by the bar and sipping a Long Island Iced Tea. Veronica has no idea where the rest of the merry five disappeared off to, but if she had to guess, Cheryl and Toni are most likely having sex in the bathroom by now and the rest of their motley crew… well. 

“Uh… Veronica?” 

She glances upwards just in time to catch Jughead’s concerned gaze staring down at her. 

“Forsythe,” she says flatly, stirring her drink with a pink straw. “Did you come here to check up on me?” 

“Actually… I… uh,” he lowers his head, “I was wondering if you wanted some company.” 

She arches an immaculate eyebrow at him and Jughead huffs. 

“Okay fine, I bumped into Toni and Cheryl near the toilets and they both asked me to check up on you.” 

Veronica’s lips twitch. 

“That is believable, at least.” 

“May I sit then?” 

Veronica moves just a little bit to the right in her booth and Jughead probably takes this as an invitation because he flops down next to her, almost knocking over her drink. 

“Sorry,” he mutters.  

“It’s alright.” 

The silence settles around them. Jughead starts tapping his knuckles against the cool surface of the table, whilst Veronica nurses her drink. It’s finished before she even realises. 

Her eyes survey the room, looking for something to talk about, anything, before she shakes her empty glass and steals a glance at him then. 

“Well, I’m glad this isn’t awkward at —“ 

“I’m sorry I didn’t call — 

They both speak at the same time and a pained expression passes over Jughead’s face. Veronica chuckles. 

“It’s quite alright,” she says. “As you can see, I’ve had my hands full with all sorts of drama.” 

“Suppose so… Do you really think they’re going to get back together?” he wonders out loud, angling his head towards one of the arcade machines where Cheryl and Toni, apparently back from the bathroom, are trying to best each other at Burger Time. 

Veronica cocks her head to the side. 

“It’s Cheryl and Toni so anything’s possible. Although…” 

She leaves the thought unfinished, her gaze still glued to the happy couple. Jughead nudges her elbow gently. 

“Hmm?” 

“Sorry. I was just thinking… They did break up for a reason. Living in different cities and trying to stay together, that’s tough.” 

“It is tough,” he nods, echoing her sentiment. “It’d be terrible to see that go to shit again.” 

“Well, they’re both going to be living in New York now so…” Veronica trails off, stare flitting back toward her empty cocktail glass. “Hey, should we get another drink?” 

Jughead’s eyes look uncertain but then he smiles, albeit begrudgingly. 

“Sure.” 

 

___ 

 

 

“I still find it inconceivable,” Jughead repeats in bewilderment. “I mean, you… _you_ are studying economics, I just can’t picture it!” 

He leans backwards a little, shaking his head. 

“Are you saying I’m not intelligent enough to be a sophomore in Columbia now or…?” 

Jughead’s smile fades. 

“No, I’m just…” 

“Relax, Capote,” she giggles. “For what it’s worth, I never saw you as a history major, either.” 

“That’s odd. What else could I possibly be studying, Corleone?” 

“Oh… ha-ha.” 

Something in his mind prickles at him, astonished by just how much this feels like high school again. The nicknames, the banter. But he’s wasted so he thinks nothing more of it, raising the bottle of rum at her instead.

“Another shot?” 

“Weren’t we supposed to be drinking cocktails, though?” 

“Ehh…” 

“Okay, don’t mind if I do.” 

She lifts her smeared glass, looking at it in distaste. Jughead catches her gaze and they both almost _guffaw_ before downing their shots in unison. Veronica doesn’t know how they ended up in the same booth with all these drinks but after another Long Island Iced Tea and a few shots, she’s having… quite a bit of fun, actually. 

She scrunches up her nose as the rum hits her tastebuds. 

“So… history, huh? What’s that like?” 

“A lot of essays and existential despair mostly.” 

Veronica snorts. 

“Sounds like something you’d enjoy immensely.” 

Jughead rests his head on his elbows, peering up at her. 

“I… I haven’t given up on my literary ambitions just yet, you know,” he says quietly. 

“Well, since I’ve never read anything you’ve written, I can’t say if that is a good or a _very_ bad idea,” she replies rather haughtily. 

“Um… excuse you!” 

Veronica shakes her head at him, her demeanour growing solemn. She hesitates for a second, clucks her tongue before stating, matter-of fact: 

“Well, at least you enjoy what you’re studying… right?” 

“It’s definitely interesting. Of course.” 

Jughead tilts her head slightly to look at her before his eyes widen in an almost comically shocked, inebriated realisation. 

“What, _you don’t_?” 

Veronica shifts on her seat, not sure whether she should reply or just laugh it off. 

“I don’t…” 

“What’s wrong with economics?” he drunkenly presses forward. 

“I… nothing. Nothing, okay?” she snaps. 

“But you just…” 

“ _Fine_ ,” she sighs in frustration. “I just… chose that major because of my dad. I thought…it’d be good for the family business and… and then…” 

She swallows, catching her breath. 

“Well, afterwards when we lost the Lodge Industries, I couldn’t just… I couldn’t say no to Columbia.” 

Veronica pauses, turning her face towards him again, her eyes bewildered, as if she’s not entirely sure what she’s just shared but something in his gaze makes her breath catch. She’s not prepared for the quiet understanding she sees in his eyes, when she’d only expected second-rate pity. 

“I…” she mutters, almost evenly. “I didn’t mean to…” 

“Shit,” Jughead mutters, nudging her elbow and holding his shot glass out for her in silent affirmation. “It’s alright.” 

Veronica’s lips twist and she sighs, taking ahold of her own glass. 

“I’m an intoxicated mess.” 

Jughead shakes his head. 

“No, you’re not.” 

“Oh, really? As if I didn’t just overshare… _again._ ” 

“Corleone,” Jughead says carefully. “For what it’s worth, I haven’t spoken to my old man for uh… about three years now and it…it doesn’t look like that’s going to get solved anytime soon.” 

“Yeah, but you’re so composed about your issues,” Veronica groans, sliding into fight mode. 

“Composed like… binge-drinking, avoiding and self-destructing?” he retorts, his gaze turning bitter. 

“When…but you do no such things!” 

Jughead stays silent and Veronica tucks her chin. 

“Sorry,” she mutters. “I mean, when… when did you…” 

“Summer before college,” he replies with a resigned air. “And bits and pieces of relapses after that.” 

“Jug, that’s terrible…” 

His fingers tighten around the shot glass. 

“It is what it is.” 

He gives a little shake of his head and looks up at her then, his lips quirking up into an exhausted smile. 

“Looks like it wasn’t you that ruined the mood after all,” he remarks and Veronica can’t help but be a little exasperated with him. 

“You didn’t ruin the mood, Salinger. I was just,” she struggles for words, “… caught off-guard by your… confession.” 

Jughead chuckles darkly. 

“Very eloquently put.” 

“I am delightful!” 

He regards her with an indecipherable expression. 

“Yeah…Listen, I’m sure…” 

“There you are, fuckers!” Midge’s loud voice trillers above their heads. “I’ve been looking for you literally everywheeere!” 

She plops down in-between the two of them, bumping into Veronica and accidentally elbowing Jughead in the ribs. Veronica reels back from the contact and Jughead utters ‘for fuck’s sake’ under his breath but they both dazedly make room for her giddy presence at their overtly philosophical booth. 

“Jesus Christ, Jug,” Midge titters. “I honestly thought somebody had kidnapped and sold your organs on the black market by now.” 

“Well, I’m sorry to disappoint.” 

“Ugh! It is just like you to be moping alone by the bar,” Midge regards him with a disappointed glare. “You’re lame.” 

She turns to Veronica then, swaying a little bit. 

“And how the hell did he manage to drag you down with him? Weren’t you like the Queen of parties in high school?” 

Veronica doesn’t hear the question at first. 

“Uh… what? What time is it?” she asks, her gaze drifting around the room. It does seem emptier than it was a couple of hours ago. Midge and Jughead have started quarrelling in the background, (well, Veronica mostly hears Midge’s voice) when her eyes land on Cheryl and Toni, still playing one of the arcade games. She gets up hastily. Jughead’s gaze follows the movement. 

“Where are you going?” he asks, remaining seated. 

“It’s getting late.” 

“Yes, but…” She turns ever so slightly but he doesn’t finish his sentence. Veronica arches an expectant eyebrow at him and Jughead’s lips twitch up at the corners. She’s making it pretty obvious. 

“Look… I know I never managed to call you back in October but… keep in touch, okay Corleone?” 

He looks rather… self-deprecated. Veronica’s lips quiver as well. 

“I’ll try, Capote,” she says eventually before waltzing towards Cheryl and Toni.

 

 

_(3)_

 

 

It’s a small wonder but this time they both keep their word. He calls her three days later after a particularly tiresome shift at The Ziegfeld and invites her to a movie. 

“Nocturnal Animals?” Veronica laughs, holding her phone with one hand and lining up the books on her desk with the other. Her personal shopper stint at Bergdorf Goodman is proving to be a bit of a challenge time-wise, she has no energy left to clean out her room on weekends. So, after today’s lectures ended, Veronica had just decided to make haste, dive in and try to fix…something. 

“What?” he asks. “It’s directed by Tom Ford, it’s chic _and_ pretty dark. Seems like something you’d enjoy.” 

“Oh, I am going to enjoy it, I’m just concerned for you. You know, since you can’t differentiate Tom Ford from Emilio Pucci.” 

“Doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate good cinema. And a kickass Abel Korzeniowski soundtrack.” He pauses before delivering the final blow: 

“Also, you just compared two brands with wildly different approaches to fashion.” 

Veronica’s laugh glitters down the line. 

“Fine, I might be convinced now.”  

“So… let’s meet at The Nitehawk tomorrow at eight?” 

She flips open her day planner and scans the page for tomorrow. Tuesday, the 15th. It is looking a bit hectic but nothing Veronica Lodge can’t manage.

“Eight o’clock it is.”

 

___ 

 

 

She’s jogging across the intersection between Berry Street and Metropolitan Avenue, shopping bags dangling from her hands, musing how this would’ve never happened in her old life. Veronica’s tiny, flimsy heel slips on the pavement and she almost falls down to the gutter. She sways and falters but stays on her feet. Thank you mind-numbingly boring ballet lessons at The Ailey School her mother had made her sign up for as a kid. 

Veronica checks her watch. Ten minutes to eight. _Fuck_. 

She passes Skinny Dennis Bar and Craft Coffee in a frightful hurry and finally halts in front of the Nitehawk entrance, almost missing the tiny sign. Luckily, Jughead’s outside on the street as well, leaning against the red brick wall and smoking. 

“You do know it isn’t ‘Bring Your Opulent Designer Dresses to the Movies’ day, right?” he drawls, gesturing at the bags with his cigarette. 

“These aren’t for me.” 

He lifts a quizzical brow. 

“Hmm?” 

“They are one of my clients’,” she explains. 

Jughead still looks perplexed so she squares her shoulders and clarifies: 

“I work at Bergdorf Goodman as a personal shopper. Part-time.” 

“Oh come on,” he says, thoughtless as ever. “Why would _you_ have to wor —“ 

He stops abruptly, wistfully thinking he has managed to hold back his tongue but he isn’t fast enough. Veronica’s expression darkens visibly. 

“Shall we go and see the film then?” she says after a beat of silence, pushing past him and the shopping bags brush against his side just a little too harshly for it to be unintentional. 

 

 

___ 

 

 

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he whispers between mouthfuls of popcorn while they watch the manuscript of the novel being delivered to Susan Morrow on screen. “I’m sorry.“ 

The film has just begun and Veronica hasn’t said anything witty or clever or sarcastic since they entered the theatre. Actually, she hasn’t said anything, period and it’s slowly nagging away at him. 

“I was just surprised by —“ 

“Come again?” she eventually hisses back, eyes still glued to the screen. “Are you surprised that I am just as boringly middle class as yourself?” 

“Lodge —“ 

“Forsythe —“ 

“It was just a thoughtless comment —” 

“I don’t know, you seem pretty vexed about — ”

“Ssshhh,” someone whispers from above. He hasn’t even realised that their little argument has gotten pretty loud. Jughead murmurs a quick apology and turns his gaze back to Veronica. She has an odd look on her face. 

Distant screams from the movie fill his senses for a moment. Somebody is getting kidnapped on the screen in front of them and he hasn’t even noticed. The noise grows quiet as she tilts her head towards him, the left corner of her mouth twitching into a smile. 

“What?” he whispers. 

“I was just wondering if we’ll always be so trivial,” she murmurs back. 

Jughead frowns. 

“Trivial… as in petty? What do you mean?” 

“I mean,” she says, inclining her head towards the audience on their right to draw his attention to the other cinema-goers. “Our constant bickering is even disturbing casual viewers now.” 

“Well, isn’t that what we do be—“ Jughead begins, his face morphing into a stubborn smile. 

“Mate, just be quiet and watch the film, both of you” a British voice barks from their left then, loud and clear. “This isn’t the time or place for a lover’s quarrel. _Really._ ” 

Jughead and Veronica look at each other, dumb-founded. That just about shuts them up until the end of the movie. Of course, they can’t help but bicker _a little_ and swap _some_ notes about the picture and all of its various twists and turns but not before the second half of the movie and even then, their voices are hushed to an almost inaudible murmur. 

 

 

___

 

 

They decide to grab a Starbucks after the movie and walk into the 5th Avenue and 53rd Street subway stop together. 

“So, what’s your overall verdict on Tom Ford as a director?” Veronica asks, taking a sip of her caramel macchiato. “Good, bad, _terrifyingly_ average?” 

Jughead grins into his coffee cup. 

“I think that… despite the fact that I didn’t get to delve into the beginning as much as I hoped, I quite enjoyed it.”

“What?” Veronica’s brows arch up in faux-horror. “So you have not decided to  brand something that was made after the year 2000 a wannabe post-modernist, melancholic dumpster fire. Consider me shocked.” 

Jughead narrows his eyes. 

“Well, be the latter as it may,” he says stiffly, “we can’t disregard the fact that _A Single Man_ was an infinitely better cinematic experience.”

He pauses. 

“It had more… soul to it.” 

“Ah, there he is.” 

“You disagree?” 

“Not in the slightest,” Veronica giggles. “It’s just so _predictable_ coming from you.” 

“Predictable that I find a piece depicting grief, a man’s depression and his inner conflict about his sexual identity more intriguing than a simple yet effective neo-noir psychological thriller?” 

Veronica’s laughing uncontrollably now. She twirls around, bumping into him and both of her hands land on his shoulders quite unexpectedly. He freezes for a moment before frowning. 

“What?” 

Veronica beams up at him, unaffected by the sudden movement, before dropping her hands and smirking. 

“Of course, you’d say that. I mean, you’re a guy. You probably thought that George’s story was touching and heartbreaking whereas Susan’s was… second-rate and not that deep at all. ” 

Jughead’s frown deepens, she’s _so_ wrong about this, and he’s about to retort when he’s struck by a new idea. 

“That’s all very well and good but isn’t Nocturnal Animals about Edward more so than Susan?” he muses. “I think the film had a better opportunity in just sticking with Susan and all the pain _she_ caused, instead of his revenge story? So, in the end, rather than being a story about a morally complex woman ruining a man’s life, it is a soapy, artificial depiction of a female villain through the lens of a man?” 

“Well… I wouldn’t put it like that but I did actually want to say something similar, albeit not in such a grandiose way,” Veronica quips but she looks almost impressed. “About how all the novel parts in the film felt so much grittier and authentic and I just wanted to pull Susan and Amy Adams out of that poorly done Pedro Almodóvar fantasy world that Ford created for her.” 

“Agreed. So… _A Single Man_ is objectively better?” 

Veronica groans. 

“It is _subjectively_ better, now let it _go_.” 

“Fine. I’ll take what I can get.” 

Their discussion dies down for the next couple of blocks before Veronica murmurs, out of the blue: 

“I think that Cheryl and Toni are not gonna last.” 

Jughead almost steps on his own foot. 

“What?” he asks, face contorted in heavy disbelief. “But I haven’t even seen her these past few days, they spend all their time in your apartment…“ 

“It’s not my apartment,” Veronica snaps almost instantaneously. “I mean… yes… they do… but I just have a feeling, alright?” 

Jughead’s eyes widen a bit at her clipped tone. He feels a sliver of curiosity nagging away at his insides but he chastises himself. Given how defensive she’d been about the job comment, it probably wouldn’t be the best idea to ask her about the apartment. 

“Well, if I were you, I’d just ignore the feeling. Toni and Cheryl are gonna be fine,” he says instead, earning an eye-roll from her in return. 

“Ignore my instincts? That’s your marvellous idea?” 

“No…. Hey, I want them to fix things up just as much as you but… there’s nothing we can do so… don’t worry about it.” 

“ _Ay dios mio_ , you’re right,” she murmurs eventually as they’re nearing the subway stop. The air is full of residue smoke, rotten food and the vapour is thick with curry smells. The combination makes Jughead cough heavily. 

“Maybe I’m just over-worked.” 

“I… uh…,” he says in-between coughs. “I bet. That Bergdorf… Goodman… job sure seems like a… a lot of hard… work.” 

“Not just Bergdorf Goodman,” she replies absent-mindedly. “Barney’s as well.” 

Jughead barely hears her answer. He is trying to focus, but finds himself helplessly gasping for air instead. Veronica hasn’t noticed anything. He finally mumbles: 

“You have… _two_ … part-time… jobs?” 

Black spots are clouding his vision as he tries to keep himself upright. 

“Well, yeah. Got to pay the bills somehow… Christ, are you okay?” 

Veronica’s eyes snap into focus as she registers his rasps for air. She regards his hunched over form in apprehension. Jughead’s face is red from the coughing and there are tears in his eyes. 

“Jesus,” she mutters, halting on her heels, not knowing what to do. 

“Jug,” she says in a tiny, panicked voice. “ _Jughead._ ”  

She steps closer and grabs onto his shoulders again and shakes him with staggering strength. He barely registers the movement, all of his thoughts focused on trying not to cough and accidentally spit in her face. His face is becoming bright red from the physical exertion as another coughing fit hacks through him. He finally covers his mouth with his hand and it eventually seizes. Veronica’s hand flies up to smooth over the curls on his forehead as if he were a little child. Jughead’s eyes fall shut, his breathing evening out, and they stand there quietly for a moment before Veronica clears her throat and takes a hasty step away from him. 

“Thank you,” he croaks, trying to meet her eyes. 

“Of course, it’s no problem.” She pointedly avoids his gaze and Jughead  watches from the corner of his eye as she digs around in her purse for something. After a while, Veronica presses a hand-kerchief between his shaking fingers. He buries his face in it. 

“Does this happen often?” she finally asks. 

Jughead shakes her off, flustered. 

“It’s… okay. It’s just the smoking. Sometimes.” 

“Maybe you shouldn’t smoke then, genius.” 

“How come you have two jobs,” he asks again, largely to throw her off her game. Maybe to piss her off a little bit. He hates being this vulnerable around someone. (But especially her.)

Veronica starts walking again and he steps after her in silence, still holding her monogrammed handkerchief. They’ve reached the subway stop and walk down the muddy stairs to the platform. She suddenly whirls around, coming face to face with him again. 

“I…” she says, tentatively. “I had the opportunity to join my mum in Europe after the whole mess with the Lodge Industries. But… I didn’t take it so… here we are.” 

Jughead’s mouth twists grotesquely as the words register. 

“You didn’t want to be involved in her Ponzi scheme anymore, _so she_ _cut you off?_ ” 

Veronica inhales sharply. Something in his tone doesn’t agree with her. Is it pity? 

“Lots of people have jobs, Forsythe,” she snarls in a blistering tone, her arms curling into fists by her sides. “I bet that you do too, and yet, during all this talk about me and my parents, I’ve never heard a word of it. How’s _your_ dad?” 

Right behind them, the train whirls into the station, ruffling her bags in all directions. Jughead takes an unconscious step back.

“Veronica, I… I’m really sorry,“ he mutters weakly. 

She assesses his desolate expression for a moment. The train screeches and the doors are opened. 

“Well then,” she says, grasping her countless purchases firmly and hopping on. “I think it’s about time I left anyway. The Veronica Lodge show is over for today. See you… sometime.” 

“Bye.” 

The last word is a mere reflex, he doesn’t say anything else as the doors close.  Doesn’t really know what to say. He watches the train whirl by and sets off in the other direction, his shocked, erratic heartbeat slowing into something much more sensible. 

He feels like she just… discarded him. 

Jughead reaches home in a strangely elevated state. His overly verbal self has been rendered utterly speechless. He opens the door to the apartment and marches to his room in a trance, absent-mindedly noting that Midge and Reggie are huddled up together on the couch. They are watching an old rerun of Desperate Housewives on HBO under a huge blanket. Reggie is asleep. 

Jughead doesn’t say hello and Midge regards him with a curious glance. She gets up during the commercial break, pulling back the curtains separating his and Reggie’s bedroom from the living room. 

“Yes?” 

“What the…. what’s up with you?” Midge asks as she sees his fidgety form drop down to the bed. He can’t stop tapping both of his feet. 

“Wha… nothing, I… I’ve just got to possibly apologise to someone,” he replies uncertainly and Midge’s eyebrows knit together before she eventually shakes her head. 

“Dude, you are _weird_.” 

“Yeah…” he replies, not really paying attention. “I just gotta apologise for over-stepping and…” 

He thinks hard about what he’s saying and sits up straighter, feeling a strange, wicked thrill of joy creep up his spine. Apologising. Right. Yes. He _needs_ to find his phone and _apologise_. 

“Jesus Christ,” Midge says. “What is _wrong_ with you? Did you eat one of Reggie’s hair products or something?” 

She rolls her eyes one last time and pulls the curtains shut again. 

“Reg,” she says, turning her attention back to her other, still half-asleep roommate. “What the fuck is in your cosmetics?!” 

“Nitric oxide and calcium cyanide, probably,” Reggie mumbles something sleepily before snuggling his head back under the blanket. 

 

 

___ 

 

 

Veronica’s phone vibrates as she steps out of the train at her home station, Chambers Street. She had to change trains three times to get here, which has done nothing to quiet down her growing irritation and fretfulness. 

She glances at the sender and her mouth forms a thin line. Jughead. What on Earth has he got left to say? She still can’t believe he had the audacity to look so unbothered and _haughty_ , while making her talk about her fucked up family yet again. 

 _Meramente inaceptable._  

Okay, so maybe she was a bit harsh with him. And it’s not his fault that it’s almost physically impossible for her to talk about her parents, nowadays. Or that she’s prone to over-reacting. But… Veronica’s hands are shaking as she stomps up the subway stairs and finds herself back in the open air. 

Fuck it, she thinks suddenly, looking at the bustling crowd all around her as she keeps walking. The wind is whistling above their heads and she hears chatter and laughter reverberating in the air. Veronica’s gaze lands on the Takahachi Bakery, her favourite spot for morning pastry shopping. She smiles. Fuck it all. Fuck these uneasy, unnecessary feelings and anxiety and fuck her crazy family. She’s in New York again. The only place to be. The phone is still in her hands with Jughead’s name blinking back at her. She opens the message. 

 _Sorry_ , _I overstepped. Capote._

Veronica’s lips quiver with amusement. Well, at least he apologised. 

 

 

_(4)_

 

 

A month passes. Jughead and Veronica have maybe exchanged fifteen texts in total deep into the Christmas season. Sometimes, life is unpredictable like that. 

“For fuck’s sake,” Veronica groans as her heel gets stuck in the hallway carpet. She has two enormous vintage Dior hat boxes in her hands and a shoe stuck in a rug —  this whole situation feels very… wobbly. 

“Ronnie?” she hears Cheryl shout from the kitchen. 

“I’m here, I’m at home,” she yells back. Veronica tries to take another step forward and grimaces, trying to move with all her might but her foot seems to be pinned to the floor.

“I could use a little help, actually!” 

“Is now really the — _fiine_ , I’m coming!” 

Veronica hears Toni’s melodious laughter, followed by the screech of one of them pushing her stool back and quickly approaching footsteps. 

“I didn’t hear you come in, we are leaving just about — ”

Cheryl glides into the hallway in her festive deep crimson Rochas with a half-eaten piece of toast still in her hand. She pauses when her gaze lands on her friend’s feet and a giggle escapes from her mouth. 

“Is this a Christmas miracle?” 

“Can you please just help me?” Veronica asks, trying to maintain the last remnants of her dignity. 

Cheryl sighs and bends down a little, taking ahold of her slightly worn cerulean Ferragamo shoe and yanking swiftly. The carpet gives way and Veronica’s free again. She straightens her pencil skirt and picks up the hat boxes once more, resigning herself to an attempt number two. 

“Are you sure you’re not overworking yourself, cherie?” 

“Hmm?” 

Veronica regards Cheryl innocently but an unmistakable flicker of distress flashes across her face. 

“V,” the other girl says, laying a hand on her shoulder. “It’s the night before Christmas Eve and you are still working yourself through the week. You’re descending into madness, darling. If this is about the mon —“ 

“It’s not about the money,” Veronica is quick to retort. But she slips up and accidentally launches into a full rant. “It’s just that dreadful Goldstein woman sent back all the hats I got for her from Louis Vuitton and to think, she didn’t even bother to use the right boxes, so I had to take them home with me and now I have to run back to Barney’s and try to get the back the right ones before they close for Christmas in less than an hour, then I have to repackage all of the hats and send them back to Louis Vuitton on the 28th, because of course, the 27th had to be a Sunday and oh, I have to notify Madame Desmarais that I can get the Hermès silk scarves delivered to her right after the holidays, but I _have_ _to_ call her today, and then I must speak with my International Trade professor and ask her to give me an extension with the mid-term paper because otherwise I will fail that course and yes, I guess I should probably mail out my annual last minute Christmas cards and text Jughead back but other than that… I should be ready to relax and have fun with you guys on Christmas. When is Josie’s plane getting here again?” 

She draws a breath, gives the redhead one last, reassuring half-smile and darts across the hallway and towards the stairwell. Cheryl blinks at her receding form once or twice. Veronica is already half-way up the stairs when she calls after her: 

“Ronnie, wait!” 

That brings Veronica to a halt. The other girl advances towards her in a flurry of red hair. 

“It’s just that…,” Veronica notes the careful tone in her voice, a cadence which Cheryl rarely uses. “I made reservations at Daniel’s for tonight and I… you’ve got to take it easy, V… I want you to be there with us.” 

Veronica bites her lip and yet, she feels strangely cold. Her entire body’s frozen to the spot in revelation. Cheryl knows. _No_. Maybe she’s just guessing. But Veronica has to say something, she… 

“I thought we were going to Gramercy Tavern?” 

_They should call me the master of diversion tactics, she thinks wryly._

“Please,” Cheryl smirks. “That place is far too ordinary for a nightly celebration before Christmas Eve.” 

Veronica’s lips quirk up in a fond smile. 

“Don’t worry about me, Cher,” she says. “You and Toni should go. I… I’ll catch up with you later.”

Cheryl furrows a brow. 

“Are you sure? But…” 

“Come on, go. Daniel’s is _a bit_ out of my current price range, anyway.” 

“You know that I can always…” 

“Cheryl, I’m going to be okay.” 

Cheryl has a turbulent look on her face, a look saying that she will challenge everything that was just said if need be and dig out the truth from Veronica’s insides but eventually, her face smooths over and she smiles. 

“Fine. But at least let me help you with one of the boxes before I go?” 

They heave the hat boxes into her attic bedroom. As soon as the door closes behind the redhead, Veronica crouches against the wall, her heart jack-rabbiting in her chest. The tears, the ones she had been trying so hard to hold back ever since this morning, spring freely now and she does nothing to stop them. 

Veronica almost ran to the bathroom to wail during her ECON 101 class today, she’s fucking earned this. 

She is dragged back into reality when she hears the click of the door from downstairs. Toni and Cheryl just left. Despite shaking like a madwoman, she pushes herself off the wall. 

Veronica treads over the soft Angora wool rug in the middle of the room, right towards her white mahogany desk. All of her schoolwork is organised in neat, colour-coded piles ever since November and her emerald green vintage desk lamp is winking back at her, demanding attention. She gulps, her gaze sliding downwards and there it lies, a torn open starkly white envelope in the middle of the table. A small note is scribbled in tiny cursive right under the sealable flap. It reads: A CHRISTMAS PRESENT FOR YOU, MIJA. - HERMIONE LODGE. There is a 6000-dollar cheque peaking out from the corner of the two handwritten pages lying scattered on the table right next to the envelope. 

Veronica gathers up the papers and the cheque and rumples them between her trembling hands until the paper mass barely holds together, throwing the remnants of the letter in the trash can under the desk. 

Her shaky legs carry her towards the bed. Veronica pulls the covers on herself, her feeble body appearing almost invisible underneath the blankets. She curls into a fetal position and cries uncontrollably, the desperate, helpless sobs wracking through her body in an unstoppable succession. 

 

 

___

 

 

December, the twenty-fifth rolls around as a beautifully crisp winter’s morning. No snow, unfortunately, but that would be quite unexpected for New York, anyway. Veronica wakes up to the Christmas lights dancing on her eyelids, her temples pulsing violently, and groans into the pillow. She can blame last night’s mulled wine for that. There is also a definite smell of freshly baked pastries floating around in her room that does no favours to her already queasy insides. Josie has probably cooked up something downstairs. 

Veronica pulls a silk bathrobe over her white negligee and traipses into the downstairs kitchen. She’s greeted by a sight of Cheryl, Toni and Josie eating candy canes and gingerbreads under the gigantic Christmas tree serving as the centrepiece of their living room for the moment (Cheryl’s idea, not hers) and laughing in hushed tones. 

“Oh, merry Christmas, Veronica,” Josie yells and hops off the counter, giving her a big hug. Toni joins in as well and they both surround her in a happy bubble. Cheryl stays on the counter. 

“Merry Christmas, you scoundrel,” she shouts over their heads. 

“Merry Christmas to you too, darling,” Veronica laughs, rushing towards her bestie and hugging her tight. 

“You’re the best roommate I’ve ever had,” she whispers apologetically, suddenly remembering last night’s events all too vividly. 

“Well… I guess flattery will get _you_ places. Even though I am still cross with you for getting into my red wine selection yesterday by the by.” 

There is no bite to Cheryl’s snark and Ronnie snorts. 

“You drank a loooot,” Josie observes in agreement, easing up beside Cheryl. “Are you stressed about school or…?” 

Veronica feels an unpleasant tick in her jaw. The whole point of these Christmas festivities is to forget about her breakdown from two days ago, not to be constantly reminded of it. 

“It’s fine,” she says shortly.  “You know… I just happen to really like alcohol.” 

“As do we all,” Toni laughs from behind her. 

“Nonsense,” Cheryl remarks with a wicked, maybe even a little malicious grin. “We don’t and V is just sad because Jughead’s not replying to her texts about _Rebel Without a Cause_ and whatnot.” 

Toni’s face fills with glee. 

“ _Oh my God_ ,” she breathes, fanning her hands in front of her face with excitement. “You guys are still keeping in touch? But Jughead never said…” 

Veronica regards Cheryl with a death glare, shuffling in her seat uncomfortably. 

“We don’t exactly keep in touch,” she says with a resigned air. “Really, it’s more of a text once every two weeks type of…” 

“Wait,” Josie cuts in, her eyes widening in realisation. “Are we talking about Jughead? As in _Jughead_? And _he_ lives in New York now?” 

“Yes. Also, him and Veronica are friends now,” Cheryl adds, shaking her head. “Although…” 

“We are _decidedly_ not friends! As I said, he barely talks to me!” 

“ _Really?_ ” 

“Can we talk about somethin —“ 

Toni chews down on her candy cane thoughtfully. 

“Yeah, I think you two are friends,” she muses. “I mean, you have so much in common, it’s insane.” 

Veronica makes a strangled sound of protest in her throat. It’s not quite a snort or a sneer but it makes Josie laugh. 

“Don’t worry, Rons. I can’t really see it, either.” 

Toni shrugs her shoulders and hops off from the ground, her eyes sparkling. She looks like one of Santa’s little helpers in her bright green Christmas jumper. 

“Listen. _Who_ is ready for presents?” 

 

 

___ 

 

 

“And then I told them, excuse me, but _I_ am recording in here and they finally went away, like… can you imagine —“ 

“I can’t believe all these horrid things you have to put up with in Cali, Josie! Even in my law internship — ” 

“It’s exactly this kind of drama that makes me terrified of college,” Toni nods along, cutting up the turkey in her plate. 

“I know. But well, music is a tough field, I just gotta… deal with it.” 

“ I honestly admire your tenacity like damn girl —“ 

“What do you think, Ronnie?” Cheryl asks all of a sudden. “Isn’t it terrible?” 

Veronica flinches, looking up from the immaculate spread of dried fruit and Christmas cookies in front of her plate. Cheryl has the most ordinary, conversational look on her face. Veronica distantly realises she has no idea what the three girls had been talking about. All that she’d been thinking about was if anyone from her family was going to contact her again. Her stomach churns. 

“I…,” she says carefully, searching around her inattentive brain for something. It’s all blank. “I… I don’t feel so good, excuse me.”  

“Ronnie, are you —“ 

Veronica pushes her chair back from the table and stands up quickly, leaving her flabbergasted friends behind in the kitchen as she practically runs towards the hallway. 

She gets to the bathroom just in time. Veronica hauls the door open, dropping onto her knees on the porcelain tiles before the entire contents of her Christmas dinner flood the toilet bowl. She retches until her face is crimson. 

A few minutes pass. Veronica gets up and wipes her mouth with a tissue but her entire body still feels itchy and warm. She wants to forget about the whole dinner ordeal and just take a shower but Cheryl and Toni would be concerned and then she would have to talk about why she’s been so off lately and Veronica can’t… 

Instead, she slips out of her party dress, wraps a huge towel around herself and heads back to the kitchen. 

“Hi, guys,” she whispers, wrapping the duvet around her more snugly. 

“Are you okay?” Cheryl asks immediately. 

“No… I just threw up, I think I’m coming down with something,” Veronica says in her meekest voice. “I’m gonna go upstairs and rest.” 

“Do you want us to come with you?” Toni asks. “We could move the whole party there.” 

“No, it’s okay.” The raven-haired princess smiles weekly. “I think I’ll just try to sleep a little,  I’ll come back down later.” 

“Okay. Fuck, this sucks.” 

“…” 

“This is such a shame,” Cheryl sighs, a pensive look passing over her face. The redhead shakes herself. “Just text if you need us to bring you some tea or pills from downstairs, okay?”

Veronica nods. 

“Of course, C.” 

“Try to sleep,” Josie yells after her when Veronica once again departs from the kitchen. 

 

 

___ 

 

 

Veronica lies on her bed, her gaze veered towards the ceiling. Of course, she is not going to sleep, she is _unable_ to. Shostakovich’s foxtrot is humming softly through the speakers above her head but still she is restless. Until the buzzing of her phone shakes her out of her stupor. 

Veronica rummages around her nightstand before her fingers land on the smooth surface. She squints at the bright screen to make out the caller. 

_Jughead? Why is Jughead calling her on Christmas Day?_

“Hello?” she asks uncertainly, sliding the green button across the screen. 

“Hey,” he says. “Merry Christmas, Lodge.”

“Merry Christmas, Jughead.”

The line is silent for a moment and Veronica pushes herself up on her elbows, clutching the phone tightly in her hand. 

“Why exactly are you calling me again?” 

She hears a chuckle from the other end. 

“Is wishing someone happy holidays a crime in Lower Manhattan? ” 

“That’s not what I meant,” she groans, a smile playing on the corners of her lips.  “It’s just, you never call.” 

“I…Midge wanted to ask you if you’re going to be in town for New Year’s,” he huffs.  “Also, I’d really like my best friend Toni back, have you seen her lately?” 

Veronica purses her lips. 

“Why couldn’t have Midge called me herself?” 

“Because she is terribly averse to technology,” Jughead replies smoothly. “Try to keep up, Corleone.” 

“I also haven’t seen Toni around here lately —“ 

“Don’t tell me she has left town now.“ 

“Looks like it.” 

“Well, guess that’s all then. Sorry to ruin your festiv — “ 

Veronica cocks her head to the side, pressing the phone against her ear. 

“Is it possible that you missed me, Capote?” she drawls. 

“Wha… that is preposterous… what are you imp…,” he begins before finally snapping: “Okay fine, I just thought that it’s been a long time since we hung out together.” 

“And did Midge really invite me to spend New Year’s with her?” 

“That was Reggie but yes, that is still very much happening.” 

Veronica chortles.

“I’m probably gonna have to pass, anyhow. Cheryl’s probably organising… something. ” 

“Hmm, sounds exhausting.” 

She can’t possibly admit that she agrees. 

“ _Very funny._ But we should hang out together sometime,” Veronica adds quickly.  “You know, for old time’s sake.” 

“Right. So,” he asks. “Are there any January releases I should know about?” 

Veronica furrows a brow. 

“You know, I am not really sure but…” Her gaze lands on her perfectly polished DVD shelf and her eyes light up. “I actually stumbled across this gem from Isabelle Huppert some days ago. _L’Avenir_. It was just released here in the States as _Things to Come_ , I’ve been dy —“ 

“Are you kidding me?” Jughead cuts in. “My European history professor just recommended it to me a week ago.” 

“Then we must go and see it!” 

“Definitely.” 

They both fall into a gleeful silence for a moment. Veronica is beaming from ear to ear, the passed days’ hardships momentarily forgotten. 

“You should also recommend me something for today as well, to be honest,”Jughead clears his throat. “I’m not having the best Christmas.” 

Veronica falters. 

“Why not?” 

“I am just fucking sick of …” he stops himself. “Well, truthfully, I just hate the holidays.” 

If it were any other day of the week, Veronica would have probably called him out on it. But today, looking at her dark and quiet room while hushed dance music and laughter flutters to the air from downstairs, she doesn’t really feel like it. 

“So,” Veronica says instead, determination seeping into her voice. “Movies. What are we talking about here? Something to cheer you up or something utterly depressing?” 

Jughead chuckles darkly. 

“Come on. You never have to ask me that.” 

“Well, in that case, I would just read Goncharov’s _Oblomov_ and call it a night,” she decides before adding on an entirely misguided impulse and cursing herself: “That’s what I plan on doing, anyway.”  

Luckily, he doesn’t seem to think there’s anything off about that comment. 

“ _Oblomov_?” he contemplates instead. “Is that the one where the main character sits around and does nothing all day?” 

“That’s the one. Alternatively, Sartre’s _Nausea_ is also ‘great’ for depression.”  

“Well yes. But I read that one years ago. And all of Camus.” 

“My God,” Veronica grins and clucks her tongue in astonishment, “you are such a cliché!” 

“Am not!” 

“Are too,” she argues. “I actually find Camus strangely comforting. There is… something uplifting about his prose but I can’t put my finger on what it…” 

 _Is._ Veronica trails off, staring into the darkness around her. Suddenly, it all floods back to her. The letter, her mum, her own complete lack of financial security, her two jobs, this miserable, miserable Christmas… 

“Veronica?” Jughead’s voice whispers, cutting through her thoughts. “Are you still there?” 

“I’m here,” she murmurs back. 

“Is everything okay?” 

Veronica leans her head against her raised knee, groaning: 

“Not really. I hate Christmas.” 

“Hey,” he says in a featherlight voice. “I’m really sorry. I hope it’s not about your…” 

He stops himself but Veronica catches on. She is not surprised that she asked him that, on the contrary, she’s well aware that Jughead knows no boundaries. But… she’s not mad. She wants to confess. 

“It is,” she says, her voice almost inaudible. “It’s my mum, Jug. She wrote to…” 

There is a sudden knock on the door. 

She freezes. 

“Ronnie,” Cheryl chimes from the hallway. “We brought you ginger tea and shortbread!” 

“Fuck,” Veronica swears, completely abandoning her lady-like manners and jumping up from the bed. “Listen, Jug, I’ve got to go.” 

“Um, didn’t you want to —“ 

“No, listen, I’ve got to go. But we’ll meet up soon, okay? I’ll text you.” 

“Wha —“ 

“Bye.” 

She hangs up in a hurry and throws her phone on the bed, heading towards the door. In some ways, Veronica is relieved. She was not supposed to tell _Jughead_ about her mum’s letter, my God, she hasn’t even told Cheryl yet, her best friend. Sure, it had felt like a good idea to share just a minute ago but she would’ve regretted it. 

Veronica opens the door, finding Josie, Toni and Cheryl smiling back at her. 

“Feeling any better?” Toni asks. 

“Yes, actually I feel a lot better,” she says with a half-smile and there is a ring of truth in her words, she realises. She feels quite okay, after the call with Jughead. That’s… unexpected. 

“Were you asleep all this time?” Josie wonders and Veronica swallows. 

“Oh, absolutely,” she nods brightly. 

Cheryl arches a brow, her countenance as casual as ever. 

“We heard you talking with someone on the phone.” She pauses. “Was it — ?” 

Veronica glares at her. She knows that Cheryl knows and yet, her mouth stretches wide open in a nonchalant fake little smile. 

“Oh no. No,” she denies quickly. “I was just talking in my sleep.” Her eyes  scan around the doorway and land on Josie’s hands that are enclosed around a DVD case. Perfect. 

“What have you got there, Josie?” 

“Oh,” Josie raises up the copy and hands it to her.  “ _It’s a Wonderful Life._ We thought we’d watch it in your room.” 

“That would indeed be wonderful,” Veronica chuckles and steps out of the doorway. All of them pile into her room, Cheryl being the the last one to enter. The redhead’s knowing stare flashes down to meet her own. Dark on dark. 

“I know you were talking to Jughead,” she murmurs. “What was that about your mum?” 

Veronica’s skin blisters uncomfortably. _There it is_. 

“I’ll tell you later, okay?” 

And she pushes past her best friend, joining Toni and Josie on the bed. 

 

 

___ 

 

 

Him and Veronica don’t manage to meet up because faith often has a way of being a little cruel around the both of them in very similar ways. Archie calls Jughead two days after New Year’s Eve. It’s an unexpected call to say the least. After all, they two of them haven’t really kept in touch after he left for New York. But the call isn’t important, the message is. And the the message he delivers, is  _v o l a t i l e_. It obliterates everything else in his life. 

“Jug,” Archie says without preamble. “Your dad might get released from prison in six months.” 

Jughead’s nails dig into the book in his hands. He had been peacefully searching through suitable material for his history paper about the 1968 student revolution in France at Albertine’s, his favourite bookstore in all of New York, and he can’t quite understand what Archie’s saying. 

“Wha —“ 

“Sheriff Keller just told Betty and me,” his former friend continues. “They got Penny Peabody last week and she confessed to Hiram helping her frame FP in the past —“ 

“He… he was not framed…” Jughead mumbles. 

“Jug, what are you talking about? Your dad is coming home! Aren’t you happy for him?” 

Archie’s words reach him as a distant echo from a broken, rotten past. His eyes freeze on the book still in his hand, it’s Lefebvre’s _Marxism and the French Revolution_. 

“Listen, Arch,” Jughead says with a trembling voice. “I’m gonna have to call you back.” 

He pays for the book and bolts out of the store. The street is crowded and he  pushes against quite a few people, their irritate outcries following him as a persistent trail. He has to get out of here, he has to run far, far away. Jughead jumps on the train at the 5 Avenue-53 Street subway station and sits by the dark glass window with his eyes closed and his mind racing. 

Two years ago, after having spent some months in New York and having become a little more organised and a little less desperate about having a family, he had looked into his dad’s case. Jughead knows exactly what FP had gone down for: drug smuggling and obscuring that drug dealer’s body, _both_ of which he had _done_. Whether Hiram or Penny or Tall Boy or the Wicked Witch of the West had tipped the police off, was beside the point. 

He doesn’t call Archie back. 

 

 

___ 

 

 

“Jughead, what the fuck,” Midge says when she finds him day-drinking for the fifth time in a row. It’s been exactly a week since he found out about his dad. “Is that rum?” 

“Why does it matter?” the boy deadpans, filling up his glass again.  

“Aren’t you supposed to be at class,” Midge asks sitting down beside him. 

“I’m sick. Actually, scratch that, I am dying.” 

“You are —“ Midge’s eyebrows knit together, transforming her face into an ugly grimace. “Jughead, this is not funny.” 

“Don’t concern yourself with my life,” Jughead barks harshly and lives to regret it immediately. His voice sounds just like FP’s when he’s drunk. But Midge doesn’t flinch back. 

“Listen here, asshole,” she seethes, working herself up. “You clearly have a problem! And okay, maybe it doesn’t concern me or whatever, but I actually give a damn about what happens to you so whatever the fuck caused this spiral that you’ve got going on is, I suggest you deal with it.” 

“I don’t want to talk to you about it,” Jughead snarls in a drunken haze. “I don’t want to fucking talk.” 

“Then go to therapy or something but in any case, you can’t keep this up.” 

Jughead barely hears her and Midge leaves soon after, leaving him sitting by the kitchen table, shot glass still at hand. Still, his roomie is right about one thing, this pattern can’t continue. After running into her a couple of more times while he’s nearly black out drunk, something snaps between them. In the end, Midge’s fury gets him out of the apartment. 

 

 

___ 

 

 

Unfortunately, New York isn’t like Riverdale, far from it. (In his sober days later on, he will wonder how he ever thought their unlikeness was _unfortunate_.) If this had happened in Riverdale, Jughead would’ve stolen steal his bike, ridden around or trashed some property, both are brilliant ways to empty his mind. But he isn’t in high school anymore and the bike is long gone. 

He needs to find another outlet.

The solution is rather a predictable one, actually. Jughead Joes III starts day-drinking in libraries. 

The important thing here is to be variable. He switches spots regularly and is attentive enough to never appear visibly drunk from the outside. And he can’t show up drunk to his job at The Ziegfeld or he’ll be sacked in two seconds and then it’s _adieu_ , New York. 

But he drinks. 

He drinks and spends all of his free mornings and weekends lazing around in Brooklyn Art Library or The Goethe-Institut and of course, the NYC Public Library. He drinks, careful enough to steer clear of the Bobst Library at NYU, but that’s only a small sacrifice for him. 

And so he secretly downs drops of poison from his flask, hoards books and drinks some more. By mid-February, his thoughts are fuzzy, his skin is paler than ever and he has read so much Brecht, Hesse and Thomas Mann that he is overflowing with words. 

“My god, Jug, you look terminally ill,” Toni says, seeing him for the first time after New Year’s. 

“I’m fine,” he grunts but mentally he agrees with her. He’s probably going to catch a liver disease at some point. How else could this really go?

Except he doesn’t catch anything. Instead, three incredible things happen in quick succession. 

 

 

___ 

 

 

“Jughead, could you come here for a moment?” the cinema manager says on one gloomy February night while he’s working the night shift at The Ziegfeld. 

Jughead plods towards him, barely keeping himself upright even though he hasn’t had a drop of alcohol today. Yet. 

“What is it?” 

“I’m very sorry but we’re going to have to let you go,” the moustached guy announces, not looking very sorry. “Actually, we’re going to have to let everybody go.The cinema is closing next month.” 

Jughead grimaces, opening his mouth for a retort, then closing it again. He is so tired. 

“Aren’t you notifying me of this a little too late?” he finally says. 

“How could I have when I didn’t manage to find a suitable buyer until last Wednesday,” the man huffs. “Anyway, the place is closing on March 15th.” 

“That’s in three weeks!” 

“The law says I need to give you a week’s notice,” the man announces rather self-importantly. 

“Oh, _great_ , so that’s all fine and good then.” 

“Hey, watch your tone —“ 

“You know what,” Jughead snaps all of a sudden. “There is no reason for me to stick around when the place is closing anyway. I quit.” 

“Now, wait just a minute, boy…” 

It’s probably the residue alcohol in his brain that makes him act so recklessly but he grabs his coat and despite the manager’s protests, walks out of the door into the cold winter’s night. 

That’s a first. 

 

 

___ 

 

 

There is a lot of yelling and protests when he drunkenly tells his roommates that he’s out of a job the very same evening. Midge is at her wit’s end. He is afraid she might have a stroke. 

Except none of them are prepared for Jughead waking up the next morning with a strange sort of clarity in his thoughts. He has felt this before, once, right before he left for New York. It’s his consciousness knocking him back into place and it’s a welcome feeling. _It can’t fucking go on like this_. 

So, Jughead gets out of bed at 7:30 am, predictably running into Reggie in the kitchen. The brunette is polishing the hardwood floors. On a Wednesday. At 8 in the morning. 

“Just tell Midge that I’m going to fix all of it,” Jughead says to his back. “No more binge drinking.” 

Reggie removes an earbud. 

“Huh?” 

Jughead is already shrugging on his coat. 

“Just tell her it’s all going to be okay!” he yells from the doorway. 

“Um… sure, will do, bro!” 

 

 

___ 

 

 

It all happens like clockwork. Jughead heads to campus that day, goes to his favourite history professor first thing in the morning and vaguely sums up his situation, asking for an extension on his paper. Five days later, after browsing the internet for any kind of job offers for an ungodly amount of hours, he starts working as a part-time bookkeeper at Andersen Tax on 6th Avenue. Ironically, despite all the shit that he has gone through, he is now making 400 extra bucks at his new job.

And then, after weeks of silence and countless three-worded texts, Veronica calls him out of the blue. It’s almost as if she knew. 

 

 

___ 

 

 

“So,” Veronica drawls in a nonchalant tone when he answers. “We never did meet up.” 

He puts his laptop on the bockety little table and curls up on the living room couch. 

“Sorry about that, I was —“ 

“Busy?” 

“Something like that.” 

He feels the sudden need to tell her about FP, because it’s Veronica, she would understand. But they haven’t talked in months and it’s only been a few weeks since he got his shit together again. Maybe not. 

“Well, I had to go to the screening of _L’Anvier_ alone, no thanks to you,” Veronica continues haughtily, “but I guess you’re forgiven for your honesty. When are we going to the cinema?” 

“There is nothing good in theatres right now, Corleone,” he argues. “It’s all Oscar-bait re-runs and pointless indie flicks.” 

Veronica snorts. 

“Harsh as always, Jug.” 

“You know I’m right, though.” 

“ _Fine_ ,” she says and Jughead can practically envision Veronica pursing her lips because of the need to compromise. “What do you propose we do then?” 

“We could always go to the library?”  he suggests. 

“ _Forsythe_ , you practically live in the library already. No,” Veronica muses delightfully, “I wanna do something fun. Let’s… let’s, yes! I know just the thing, it’s _sublime_.” 

Jughead waits on the other end of the line patiently but Veronica doesn’t elaborate. Eventually, he sighs. 

“Are you going to share your grand scheme with me or —?” 

“No, I don’t think I will,” Veronica says and her tone is practically drenched in wickedness. His heart skips an unexpected beat. This particular tone reminds him so much of the old Veronica and it does something to him. 

“I am pretty sure,” she continues, “that I’m not going to tell you. You would be a crybaby about it and I don’t have time for your pointless whining.” 

“I don’t —“ 

“Not gonna happen, Forsythe.” 

“Okay,” he murmurs with a defeated air. “When are we supposed to meet for this… venture of yours?” 

Veronica chuckles with delight. 

“Meet me near The Friends Apartment on Grove Street. You do know where it is, right?” 

“ _Yes._ _Please_ tell me we are not going to Central Perk.” 

“My lips are sealed. Also, they closed the New York one down two years ago.” 

“You are insufferable.” He shakes his head. “What time?” 

“Around half past seven?” 

“I’ll be there.” 

“Oh by the way,” Veronica adds uncertainly. “I’m glad you’re doing better now, Jug. Bye.” 

She hangs up the phone in a flash and Jughead narrows his eyes. Doing better? Better than what? And how would Veronica know about his recent spiral, anyway. He hasn’t seen her for two months but… Of course. Toni has, she practically lives at Cheryl’s now. Well, not practically. She lives there.Jugheadis once again  painfully reminded of the minuscule size of their social circle. (Also, him and Toni really need to have a quick word about privacy.) 

 

 

_(5)_

 

 

Greenwich Village has always been Jughead’s favourite part of the City. Even in the harsh, charcoal late winter light, the streets look picturesque. He passes a tiny double-decker red flower shop on Bleecker Street, vibrant against the rusty brown brick buildings and wishes he lived here, maybe then he could write. The following right turn lands him swiftly on Grove Street and right back in his toddler years. 

Veronica is standing in front of the downstairs café of the Friends building, evidently not named Central Perk. She greets him with a devilish smirk. 

“You’re early.” 

“Well, I had nothing to do at home so…” 

“Charming,” she rolls her eyes at him. “Shall we go then?” 

Jughead runs a hand over his face. 

“So, this is not it then?” 

“Of course not,” she laughs lightly. “Come on, I made reservations at eight.” 

Jughead has to jog a little to keep up with her. He honestly can’t understand how someone so tiny can be so nimble-footed at the same time.  

“Reservations… so… is it in the Village at least?” 

“You’ll see, Torombolo.” 

The two of them rush onwards on Grove Street, past various bars and cafés. Jughead gets the sense that they’re probably here a bit early, some of these places haven’t even switched on their night-time neon signs yet. 

“By the way,” Veronica says casually after five minutes of fast pace walking. “I think we need to set some ground rules for our… meetings.” 

Jughead looks at her incredulously, his lips quirking into a mocking little smile. 

“ _Ground rules?_ What do we need ground rules for? We are not sixteen and we’re barely even friends.” 

Veronica’s mouth forms a small O in surprise. 

“Oh, I didn’t mean it like that,” she says quickly. 

“Like what?” 

“Nothing! Actually, I had just one ground rule in mind.” 

“Right. Which is?” 

“We are never going to discuss anything related to our families. Ever ” 

Her tone, which had been breezy and playful has grown icy and determined. A few months ago, he would’ve challenged her statement immediately but now… 

“Agreed,” he replies, quick as a flash. 

Veronica cocks her head to the side, surprise flickering over her face. 

“I’d thought for sure you’d protest.” 

“Well,” he drawls. “There have been some recent events that have made me change my mind. But,” he gives her an uncharacteristically bright grin, “talking about those events would be violating our rule.” 

“If you’re trying to incite my curiosity, it’s not working,” she scoffs but her mouth is twitching as well. 

“I wasn’t —“ 

“Anyway, here we are,” she says, stopping abruptly in front of a smaller, white and black tavern-style building. Its windowpanes are striped red and white like candy canes and there is a large pub sign hanging high above their heads, declaring the place _Marie’s Crisis Cafe_. 

Jughead grins. 

“At least the name is fitting,” he chuckles. “Is this like a pub or —?” 

 

___ 

 

 

“Karaoke?” Jughead demands all but five minutes later. “You brought me here to sing karaoke?” 

“Oh, relax, it’s not that deep,” Veronica huffs as they jostle around the place in search for their table. She thinks she has never been so exasperated with him before. “It is simply a fun place.” 

“I am telling you, I am _not_ going to sing some lame Taylor Swift —“ 

“Ssshhhh!” Her eyes widen in horror. “Do _not_ mention that name here!” 

“I said, I am not going to — “ 

Veronica’s dainty little hand lands on his mouth in an instant, effectively silencing him. Jughead looks at her in bewilderment. She makes a grimace but doesn’t remove her hand. 

“This is a historic piano and jazz bar,” she whispers urgently, leaning closer. Jughead catches a whiff of her perfume. It’s minty and fresh and… utterly unexpected. His surprised gaze flitters down to her mouth. “No way would they be playing Taylor Swift here, I’m surprised a hipster like you doesn’t know about this place…” 

She falters and her hand drops from his mouth. 

“Why are you looking at me like that?” 

Jughead frowns and tucks his chin. 

“Your Taylor Swift speech was distracting me,” he says curtly. 

“Well, rest assured, you don’t have to sing if you don’t want to,” Veronica scoffs at him, trying to collect herself. 

“Are _you_ going to sing?” 

“Obviously. I have a song picked out and everything. _You Don’t Know Where Your Interest Lies_ by Dana Valery.” 

He smirks at her. 

“The original Simon & Garfunkel? Feisty.” 

 

The band starts playing at quarter past eight and they settle down in the leather diner chairs when the first few performers appear on stage. Jughead has to admit that it’s not that bad. Even the music is actually quite okay.

“Right, that’s my queue,” Veronica whispers in his ear at nine thirty when the eighth group of people rolls off the stage. He shakes his head at her and she beams widely, gliding over the to the front of the stage. Jughead tilts up his chin. 

He can’t help but notice that all the heads turn towards her. He concedes that she does looks striking in her simple floor-length purple dress with a high collar. It would look plain on anyone else but on her, it looks opulent. 

Veronica smiles to the crowd knowingly and starts singing with the band. 

 

_You don’t know that you love me_

_You don’t know but I know that you do_

_You may think you’re above me, yeah_

_What you think isn’t always true_

 

Jughead chuckles to himself, shamelessly admiring her diva-like performance. This song fits her down to a T. Veronica repeats the last phrase twice. 

 

_Oh no, don’t try to debate me_

_You should know that I’m womanly wise_

_Still you try to manipulate me_

_You don’t know where your interest lies_

 

He has a puzzled expression on his face when she returns to their seats. 

“Did you like it?” Veronica asks, still grinning from ear to ear. 

“It was very… autobiographical,” he says without much thought. 

She frowns a little. 

“So, you noticed?” 

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that —“ His face clouds over in apologetic realisation. 

Veronica’s apparently too ecstatic to care at the moment. 

“You know what,” she announces instead, scrunching up her nose in a child-like manner. Well, either a child or a petty queen. “I will forgive you for violating our one rule if you agree to sing one song with me. Eye for an eye.” 

“Veronica, no —“ he protests but she has already grabbed onto his hand , dragging him towards the empty stage. _Great._ Of course, it has to unoccupied at this precise moment in time. 

“Lodge, you can’t possibly —“ 

“Eye for an eye, Jug,” she repeats before adressing the band. “Can you please play Whitney Houston’s I Wanna Dance with Somebody?” 

The pianist nods. 

“Ronnie —“ 

The different chords fill the bar and Veronica holds up her hands. 

“I wanna dance with somebody, I wanna feel the heat with somebody,” she sings nay screeches loudly, yanking him closer by his hand. “Yeah, I wanna dance with somebody, with somebody who —“ 

He is not sure if he finds this whole situation comical or tragic or both but Veronica’s definitely crazy. 

“Come on, give me one line!” she shouts. 

“I can’t sing, you heathen!” he bleats, attempting to shield himself from her. 

“That is no excuse, Capote!” 

“Hey, you two,” the pianist shouts at them all of a sudden. “Either sing or get off the stage!” 

Veronica opens her mouth, ready to protest, but Jughead quickly realises this is probably the only window of opportunity he’s going to get before he’s forced into a Whitney Houston duet for real. He lunges at Veronica, pulling her towards him by the waist. Veronica gasps and the next thing she knows, she’s hoisted up, the ground disappearing below her feet as Jughead picks her up and carries her back towards their seats, bridal-style. The public goes insane. 

He drops her down on the leather seats unceremoniously as soon as they’ve reached the table, clutching onto his kneecaps immediately. Veronica arches a questioning brow at him. 

“I haven’t lifted anything that heavy since tenth grade gym class,” he explains  honestly and she swats him over the head with her hand. 

 

 

___ 

 

 

“I have a new rule for our ‘not allowed’ list, by the way,” Jughead says as they step out of Marie’s Crisis Cafe. 

“What is it?” Veronica asks. 

“Karaoke.” 

She is in front of him in a second, her tiny fists raised against his chest, face contorted in faux fury. 

“Don’t make me hit you again, Capote!” 

“I bet you secretly wish we would’ve gone to the cinema,” he says, his tone every bit as superior as he feels. His face drops down towards hers.  “ _Admit it._ ” 

Veronica takes a quick step back. 

“I uh…” she snaps back at him, “I noticed that you weren’t drinking tonight,”

Jughead furrows a brow. How did that come up all of a sudden? 

“Didn’t Toni tell you?” he asks after a beat of confused silence. 

“Tell me what?” 

“About my predictable breakdown after I heard that my da —“ 

He stops when he realises that Veronica is staring at him in a heightened state of confusion. Huh. But Jughead could’ve sworn she knew. 

“Toni just told me that you had some unexpected problems with work,” Veronica says slowly. “She never said —“ 

“Well then,” he murmurs quickly. “Never-mind that.” 

“Why would she —?” 

“Hey, sorry but I am going to apply our infamous ground rule here,” he interrupts her. 

“It seems like we can’t really talk about anything then,” Veronica retorts, clearly irritated. 

Jughead clears his throat. 

“Ahem. If I can’t pry, you can’t either.” 

“I ask a lot less questions than you!” 

“There there, Corleone,” he says haughtily. “We can always talk about the weather.”

They stop near the Christopher Street subway stop and Veronica finds herself smiling up at him. She is struck by a fervent desire to hug him. For all his sarcasm, she can tell something’s off. 

“Don’t be a stranger in New York, okay?” she says instead. 

Jughead’s face softens and he gives her a rare, very unlike him, charming smile. 

“Don’t worry, I won’t, ” he whispers. “It sure gets lonely in the city sometimes.” 

 

___ 

 

 

Veronica spends the next few days in a state of bliss. Cheryl’s overprotectiveness doesn’t seem as overbearing all of a sudden and the air in her lungs flows a little easier. 

Her and Jughead have already made plans to see _Get Out_ next week but even if these plans don’t come to fruition, she just feels more composed in general. March is here and the streets don’t look as gloomy anymore. She hasn’t received any strange letters after Christmas. Granted, she hasn’t checked her mailbox ever since December, but as far as Veronica knows, there is nothing. Life is good (or getting there). 

“Cheryl, Toni!” she calls out, unlocking their apartment door on a shiny March afternoon. “I’m home! And I brought macaroons!” 

“I can’t believe you would lie to her like that! That is disgusting!” Toni yells from the living room and Veronica halts beside the corner of the hallway. Okay. She is just going to sneak upstairs and come back down later. There’s no need to interrupt their lover’s quarrel. 

“I was just trying to protect her!” Cheryl screeches. “You don’t know what she was like when —“ 

But her voice is drowned out by the sobs. Veronica freezes, right foot still on the first stair. A dark inkling has got a hold of her windpipe. She steps back towards the living room on her tiptoes and leans against the wall. 

 _Veronica Lodge doesn’t eavesdrop_ , her proud inner voice reminds her. But this is different. Somehow. 

“Hiding those letters from her? Not passing along her mother’s calls?” Toni’s voice has veered into hysteria by now. “What the fuck has happened to you lately, Cheryl?” 

“I was gonna tell her!” the other girl screams back. “But you didn’t see Veronica then, Toni! You didn’t! She was a complete wreck when she arrived in New York  two years ago! Her parents ripped her apart in Riverdale! Maybe you don’t know what that feels like but I sure do! Like hell if I was gonna let that devil woman near her again!” 

A charged silence fills the living room. Something very painful is happening in Veronica’s mind. Tears are streaming down her face but she doesn’t understand the why yet. She chastises herself to be quiet. Just be quiet, Veronica. 

“And the messages Ginger sent her? Why did you keep deleting those? Was she also in with her parents or — ?” 

“I was only —“ 

“And all the clothes you’re always gifting her? The extravagant lunches and dinners? Paris trips What is that for?” 

“Toni, she is penniless right now, I was just being kind —“

“ _Who is she to you, Cheryl_?” Toni demands. 

Cheryl’s stunned silent. Veronica has covered her mouth with her hand to keep her sobs quiet behind the wall. 

“You are in love with her, aren’t you?” Toni asks a beat later, her voice quivering. “I know it. I think you’ve been in love with her for a very long time.” 

“I… yes… I’m sorry… _yes_ ,” Cheryl whispers, her voice awfully small. 

“You have to tell Ronnie everything,” Toni states, matter-of-factly. “This isn’t right.” 

And suddenly, Veronica can hear the stomping of her Doc Martern’s approaching. She doesn’t think, just acts, managing to slip out of the apartment door at the last second before Toni reaches the hallway. She runs down the stairs with the macaroon boxes still in her hands, half-blinded by tears. 

The street is now illuminated by the street lamps and Veronica breathes in the cold spring air in measured gasps. At least she still has her purse and wallet with her.  But no coat. And she can’t go back to that apartment, she can’t, she can’t… Deep, easy breaths. There. She is not going to have a panic attack right here in front of their apartment building. 

Veronica starts walking towards the Chambers Street subway station instead, shivering from head to toe. The passersby are looking at her weird. _Where is she gonna go?_

Outwardly unbothered, she pulls her phone out of her purse and starts scrolling down her contacts frantically. None of her friends from Columbia are really her friends, they’re more like acquaintances. She can’t call them. Ever since she moved to New York, she’s always hung out with _Cheryl_.

Veronica shakes herself and keeps moving. The subway stop is visible now. Surely there is someone somewhere. Someone like…Ginger. Yes. She can go and have sex with Ginger again and stay there, she thinks, pressing the call button and hurrying down to the metro station. 

Ginger picks up on the third ring. 

“Ronnie,” she murmurs, all seductive and sultry. “How are you?” 

“Just peachy. Listen…” Veronica squares her shoulders. “Are you free tonight?” 

“I might be.” 

“Great. Listen, can I come over? We could… you could… keep me company.” She mentally cringes but Ginger chuckles. 

“I was starting to think you’d forgotten where I live.” 

“Well, I haven’t.” 

Two trains screech into the station. Upstate. And Brooklyn. 

“Good,” the other girl purrs. “Because I can’t wait to watch you cum all over my face again.” 

Veronica shivers nervously. What the fuck is she doing? 

“I…” 

“I’ve missed you, Ronnie.” 

Really, what the _fuck i_ s she doing? She doesn’t care about Ginger. She is not supposed to be here what is she — 

“Ginger, I’m sorry, I’ve got to go,” she whispers, pressing the red button and ending the call. _It sure gets lonely in the city sometimes,_ Veronica hears Jughead’s voice murmur in her mind. In the end, there is only one other place where she can go. The raven-haired princess jumps on the Brooklyn train. 

 

 

___ 

 

 

Jughead’s sitting alone on the tattered couch on his apartment. Midge and Reggie had gone out earlier to see the Power Rangers on IMAX at the Alamo and he had respectfully declined their invitation to tag along. 

Power Rangers. _Not a fucking chance._

Instead, Jughead brews himself some strong coffee and settles down on the couch among all these ruddy pillows. Anyway, this is a one of a kind chance to dig back into his original writing, even if just a little bit. He is finally back on schedule with his college papers so this is really —

The frantic ringing of the doorbell disrupts his thoughts. He groans, getting up  and dragging himself towards the door. If this is another one of these environment people…

“Jug? Jughead, are you there? _Jughead?_ ” 

He wrenches the door open in disbelief, finding himself face to face with an agitated, dishevelled Veronica, trembling from head to toe.

“Jughead, thank God,” Veronica cries out, running into his arms. She grips his face in her hands, nails digging into flesh, and before he can fathom what’s happening, she’s kissing him.  

Her cold lips slide against his with unmistaken precision, demanding and desperate in their movements. She lets out a forlorn groan and her mouth parts further, her tongue barely grazing his. It’s not enough to be a taunt and yet it’s already tearing him apart. Veronica nudges his arms apart, stepping further into him and his mind vacates all reasonable thought. 

He grabs onto her waist and pushes her back against the apartment door roughly, his tongue sliding easily into her mouth. His other hand dips in-between her thighs in complete abandon and she moans. 

“Please…” she begs and he wants to swallow the sound whole. 

“Please what?” he whispers, his lips slipping from her mouth to the underside of her jaw. 

“Please, I want…” And then she sobs, actually sobs, pulling her arms away from his face and pushing him away. It takes a moment to register but soon her chaotic cries fill the air and Jughead steps back as if stung. 

He raises a hand to his mouth, wiping away the remnants of her dark purple lipstick and regards her, pupils blown wide open. 

“What was that?” he whispers, voice quiet. 

“Oh God, I am sorry, I am so sorry,” she weeps, hiccupping uncontrollably. Veronica forces herself to look at him through her tear-stained gaze. 

“I didn’t mean to kiss you but I… I’ve just discovered something horrible and I couldn’t stay in the apartment, I… I had nowhere to go, so I…” She lets out a ragged breath, almost choking on it. “I was just so relieved …” 

“Oh,” he nods. “Yes, I… I thought so.” 

“I better go…” 

“No,” Jughead states resolutely, his eyes flaring. “You are not fit to go anywhere now, Lodge.” 

“I can manage,” she says, jutting out her chin.

“Then why even come here?” 

“Okay. I just… I’m sorry I barged in on you like that and…”

“Veronica,” he says in a softer tone, his words cutting into her hysteric tantrum. “You’ve saved my skin once or twice, remember?” 

“Oh,” she says in a voice bordering on hysteria. “So, this is just…you being… heroic and indebted and lame?”

“Precisely.” 

She grimaces at him through the tears and they both take a step forward into the tiny living room. 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I hope this chapter wasn't too much of a mess! ALSO, does the kiss mean anything at this point of the story? Ehhh... could it be that easy, COULD IT? Anyway, I'll pick off right where I left off with my next update so I guess we'll know! 
> 
> Also, sorry for taking 4.5 months to update!
> 
> PS: I know I totally failed in depicting Jughead and Veronica as functional adults but I couldn't free them from their teenage traumas that easily. I couldn't make myself do it. Not yet, anyway. 
> 
> Please leave comments and kudos if the mood strikes you, all feedback is much appreciated cause I really struggled with this chapter!

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so... there will be a time-jump after this chapter and I'm whisking them off to New York but that's as much as I'll say about the plot for now! I hope you liked the fic! I am considering making a Tumblr playlist for it, so follow me @sheishookedtothesilverscreen if you're interested in the fic and would like to know more :) 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading and as I said in the previous note, comments and kudos are always welcome!


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